


I Could Stand You One More Night

by Hllangel



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, M/M, Rimming, Tour Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:11:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2007063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hllangel/pseuds/Hllangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Didn't expect to see you," Nick says instead of hello. He's already just in tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt, hair sticking up all over the place, glasses on instead of contacts. Louis stomach lurches weirdly, but he ignores it and pushes past Nick into his flat. He knows he wasn't followed here, but he's uncomfortable standing outside for too long most days. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Just got back to London," Louis says. "Haven't seen you for a while." He holds out a kebab in the bag. </i></p><p>Or, Louis and Nick have been fucking for ages, but it's definitely not a thing. They don't even like each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Could Stand You One More Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tardiscrashing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardiscrashing/gifts).



> For tardiscrashing, who requested secret relationships, Louis listening to the Breakfast Show while on tour in America, texting, and voicemails with confessions. And rimming. I hope you enjoy this! 
> 
> So many many thanks to my beta and britpicker and cheerleader, who shall remain nameless for now (you know who you are). This never would have been finished without you. Thank you to Masturfates for running this whole thing, you've done a great job of it. 
> 
> This is a work of fiction based on the lives and likenesses of real people. If you are one of them, please turn around, and I'm sorry.

Louis rolls out of the bed and reaches for his trackies as soon as he's caught his breath. His thighs are lube-sticky but it's not like he's going to detour anywhere on his way home. He'll shower when he gets there; his priority is getting out as fast as he can.

He sneaks a glance back at the bed whilst he pulls his shirt over his head and finds Nick sitting up against the headboard, typing something on his phone.

This part is always awkward, the leaving. It's not like he actually likes Nick, though. There are no feelings involved in whatever this is. It's just that sometimes Louis needs to be fucked, and he can't go out and pick up a random guy. So he'd landed at Nick's one night, knowing only that Harry trusted him and that he liked to fuck and sometimes wasn't all that particular about his partners.

Louis doesn't need an emotional connection to get a dick in his arse.

"So that's it then?" Nick asks without looking up from his phone.

Louis shrugs even though Nick isn't looking at him. There's nothing keeping him here but for some reason he's finding it difficult to walk out. They're leaving in the morning for Toronto and ten weeks in America, and Louis isn't packed yet. Then again he'd never really fully unpacked from South America, and took small bags around Europe, so he'll probably be fine. Even if Caroline yells at him for the state of his clothes.

Nick does look up whilst Louis is still half frozen and half dressed. Well, mostly dressed, but he doesn't have his shoes on yet. "You're still here."

It's not a question, really, and he almost sounds surprised, but his face is nearly blank. The text alert on his phone goes off several times in quick succession, but Nick doesn't look at it.

Louis grabs his own mobile and looks at the time. It's not that late, really. "Could go another round," Louis says. It's not a great idea for his comfort on the flight tomorrow, but they've got a private jet with really nice seats, and he's going to be gone for over two months.

Nick finally shows something on his face. He smirks, setting the phone aside. He's still naked under the sheets, and Louis definitely appreciates the view when he kicks those away. Nick isn't hard yet, but he palms his cock and gives Louis a once-over, raking his eyes slowly down and up Louis' body, lingering on Louis own fattening cock.

"Come on, then," Nick says.

It doesn't sound like much, but it's the invitation Louis is waiting for. He doesn't bother taking his shirt off again. He just drops his tracksuit bottoms to the floor and gives his dick a few tugs, feeling it thicken in his hand, before crawling back onto the bed between Nick's legs and reaching for his cock. He gets it into his mouth right away, feels it harden up on his tongue and he wants to sigh into it. Louis loves this part, feeling full up, physically incapable of talking, of thinking about anything except the stretch in his jaw and how to breathe. It's the sort of peace that he rarely finds anymore.

"Fuck you look good like this," Nick says. Louis ignores him. They don't talk, they never talk when they're fucking. Or in between times. He doesn't even like Nick, really, and it's just not how things go, not how Louis likes this to happen. He scrapes his teeth along Nick's cock, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him that he could. He knows full well how little Nick likes even the tiniest bits of pain.

"Fuck!" Nick says, and Louis hums a bit, satisfied. "Fine. Go on then." 

All too soon, Nick is pulling him off, cock fully hard and wet with Louis' spit. While Nick reaches for the condoms, Louis rolls onto his stomach and gets his knees under him, giving Nick easy access to his still lube-sticky arse.

It only takes a minute before Nick's hands are on him, long fingers sliding inside, loosening him up even though he really doesn't need it because Nick was actually fucking him less than an hour ago. "Get on with it, Grimshaw," he says. "Fuck me already."

Nick pulls his fingers out and slaps him, and Louis buries his face in the pillow to avoid making any sort of sound at that. He refuses to give Nick the satisfaction of knowing what he actually likes, aside from being fucked. This isn't fun, it's not supposed to be, this is desperate and ugly, and the only thing that manages to quiet Louis' fucked up head sometimes.

The mattress dipping and Nick's hands grabbing his hips are the only warning Louis gets before Nick is sliding in in one long, smooth stroke. He draws back at the same speed, and fucks back into Louis with a bit of force, enough that Louis breath hitches a bit, caught in his throat. He wants more, but Nick is being almost gentle with it, fucking him with long strokes and paying no attention to the way Louis is arching his back into it, asking for more even though he can't say the words.

"Come on," he growls. "Is that all you've got? It's pathetic."

Insults always work a treat, and soon enough Nick is speeding up, still fucking him deep with long, hard thrusts, scraping against Louis' prostate as he goes. There's a fuzz creeping in on Louis’ vision, a buzzing under his skin that isn't unpleasant at all. It's blocking out everything else, which is just what Louis wants. He's distantly aware that he's got properly hard again, but it doesn't matter really. He just wants this blankness to keep going.

Louis barely registers when Nick's rhythm changes, speeding up and going harder until he stops, gripping fingers digging into Louis' hips and breathing out a stilted, "Fuck."

After he pulls out, he tries to roll Louis onto his side to grab at his cock, but Louis goes the opposite way and leaves the bed entirely, well aware that he looks ridiculous with his hard dick tenting out his t-shirt, without any pants or even his trackies on. He stands next to the bed and finishes himself off, almost as an afterthought. It's the fastest way to get his dick to go soft so he can leave.

"You know," Nick says, when Louis is getting dressed, again. "It's not exactly fun for me like this. I like partners who are enjoying it, too."

"We're not partners," Louis says. "And I don't care what you think." 

There's a bitter edge to his voice that Louis can't hide even if he'd wanted to. They've been doing this for long enough now, Nick knows what the deal is, he can't pretend otherwise. If he didn't like it he could turn Louis away.

"Fine," Nick says, rolling out of bed and heading for his en-suite. "You know where the door is. Have fun in America." If Louis didn't know better, he'd say Nick sounded almost sad. But it can't be, because they don't even like each other. Louis comes around to get fucked when he's in London, and that's it. They don't even talk. They never have.

Louis shoves his feet into his Vans, grabs his phone and wallet and keys and is out the door before Nick's finished in the shower. He doesn't say goodbye.

~*~

The car comes much too early the next morning, and Louis is barely awake when he stumbles out of bed and reaches for his travel clothes. He'd barely slept the night before, and he's feeling odd and unsettled now in the thin dawn light.

This isn't how it usually goes. He feels like this at the end of a tour, anticipating the flight home, a city where he can disappear into his own house with his own things and maybe sneak off to Nick's to get out of his head for a while so that he can come back with his skin feeling like his own. Take charge of his own head for once. That's been the pattern for the last few years, and he doesn't know what to do with the unpleasant buzzing under his skin.

Last night was for nothing, then, he thinks.

His mobile is ringing, and he answers it, knowing that it's going to be the car. He'd showered last night so that's not a problem, but all of the things he needs for the flight are still lying around his bedroom. He buzzes them inside, so the driver can grab his trunk from where it's been left by the door downstairs, and moves to put his computer and the rest of his travel things in his shoulder bag. He takes more time than he should, but less than he wants, to get everything together. He knows they'll yell at him for being late, but there's nothing he can do about it now, and it's not like they're taking commercial flights these days. The plane will leave when they're ready, not the other way around.

Due to a combination of his own packing procrastination and congestion on the roads, he's half an hour late by the time they actually get to the airport, and when he climbs into the plane he finds Liam frowning at him.

"Don't," he says, heading off Liam's well deserved lecture. He knows he's being shit, but he can't help it. He's tired and grouchy and sore in not a good way. Usually he likes carrying the reminder for a day or two, but everything feels off kilter at the moment. Louis hates going on tour feeling this jumpy. "I know, I'm sorry. I didn't sleep well last night."

Liam gives him a worried look, but doesn't launch into the expected lecture. "Glad you made it," he says instead. "Would have been a shit trip without you."

Louis smiles at him before dropping into his seat next to Zayn and accepting the tea that's handed to him by their flight attendant. "The other plane's gone, then?"

Zayn is half asleep already, but he cracks an eye open. "You were late," he says. "They weren't, so they left."

"Right," Louis says, taking a sip of his tea. It's a stupid thing, and it's his own fault for not packing last night and choosing instead to stay in the shower for ages and crawl directly back into bed after he closed up his actual suitcase on the mess of clothing inside. It's just that he feels like he's failed at something and let everyone down, even though it doesn't really matter that the other plane takes off thirty minutes earlier when they'd been scheduled to go first. He's let someone down, probably Liam, if he's honest, and it sits uneasily in the pit of his stomach. A cold knot that his tea is doing nothing to dissipate. He sets it aside.

"You alright, bro?" Zayn asks. He looks concerned, if a bit sleepy, in the oversized hoodie he's pulled on for the trip. Zayn always looks sleepy though.

"'Course," Louis says. It's mostly true. Or not at all, but he'll have to be because they're not exactly going on holiday, they're going to America to work.

Zayn looks at him like he doesn't believe what Louis' saying, which is fine as long as Zayn doesn't question him about it, because Louis isn't going to talk. A small plane is a horrible venue for a private conversation, but even if they were in a locked hotel room, just the two of them, Louis wouldn't be talking. He's not sure how to put half the things in his head into words anyway. He feels almost as if he's being taken apart by the seams, all of his edges getting frayed and worn away, but that's a stupid image, and people don't have seams anyway.

Long flights are horrifically boring, and Louis knows that Zayn has the right idea, going straight back to sleep, but he's always had the knack of sleeping anywhere, a skill that Louis hasn't quite managed even after all this time. Besides he can't get comfortable, every slight bump has him struggling not to wince even though the seats are generously padded. He should be working, anyway. He and Liam are halfway through a few different songs, struggling a bit on the verses, and they'd planned on getting some of it done on the plane. He's also got roughly five thousand emails he should be responding to, but instead, he pulls out his laptop and puts on a film, pretending to concentrate on it. Soon enough he's actually pulled in, even though he's seen it more times than he can count, and then he's asleep.

He wakes up to a darkened cabin, even though he knows it's daylight outside, and finds that Liam and Zayn have switched seats.

Fucking fantastic. 

"Morning," Liam says. There's a plate of pastries on the armrest between them, so Louis reaches out and grabs one without thinking. When Liam doesn't protest he knows they're for him anyway. He stuffs half the croissant in his mouth and goes to make a new cup of tea, since the one he'd half-finished before is long since gone cold. It's also him stalling, and even if Liam recognizes it as such he won't protest because Louis drinks roughly one hundred cups of tea per day.

Louis doesn't come back until the tea is fully brewed and he's fished out the teabag and dumped it in the tiny bin on the counter of the mini kitchen at the back. Finally, when he can't stall anymore he creeps back to his seat. "So those songs," he starts.

"Are you really alright?" Liam asks.

"Fine, yeah," Louis says, pasting on his brightest smile, which isn't much considering how god-awful tired he is. It's etched into his bones, he thinks. He's never going to catch enough sleep, not until this whole ordeal is over. And maybe not just the tour. 

Liam looks at him, eyes soft and sad and worried. "It's just, mate, you've been acting weird." 

"I'm fine, Liam," Louis says. He shifts in his seat again, wincing, though if Liam notices he doesn't comment on that. Louis' never told him about this particular bit of him, not that Louis remembers, anyway. "Let's pull up those songs. We've still got a few hours, yeah?"

Liam agrees easily, the way he always does when it's about work. He is honestly the hardest working person Louis has ever met. It makes up for Louis' own desire to do absolutely nothing right now. It would fit his mood, at least.

By the time they land they're not really any further on the songs, but the distraction was good. They don't find Harry and Niall until they get to the hotel and all sit down for dinner together in Niall's room, a mountain of burgers and chips spread out on the coffee table while they all crowd around and grab for bits and pieces. When the last ketchup packet goes missing and they've still got about half of chip mountain left, Louis pinches Niall hard on the shoulder. He has the gall to try to look innocent, even though he cracks roughly half a second later, face splitting into a wide grin that shows off his now-perfect teeth.

Harry reaches for the phone to call down for more while Liam moans about the lack of vinegar.

~*~

Louis generally doesn't pay much attention to the show reviews because they're mostly written by adults who are annoyed at having to go to a boyband concert, and their fans generally don't complain no matter what they do. But this time he can't really avoid it as someone's left the New York Times open next to the kettle in the breakfast lounge that's been set up for them; Louis can't avoid it if he wants tea. And he does.

He viciously tears it up and drops it into the nearest bin once he's done reading, and then pours out his fresh cup of tea on top of it just to be sure. Sure of what, he doesn't know, but he's shaking and angry, and even though there are probably hundreds of copies of the same thing floating around this hotel and the city; he wants that particular copy, the one he's just read, to die a fiery death even if actual fire is probably out of the question. 

He'd been planning on having breakfast with Liam and Paddy and Paul, but now he just doesn't want to be around anyone, so he makes a new cup of tea and walks out, determined to just get room service and hide until he's needed. He's no good to anyone like this. Some part of him knows that he's much too old to be throwing a temper tantrum, but all he wants to do is throw something, break something, maybe break himself while he's at it; he's not sure anyone would notice if he did, anyway. He's been wearing increasingly uncomfortable masks around nearly everyone he knows for longer than he cares to admit. Part of him wants to think that they're all waiting for him to say that he's unhappy or uncomfortable, but the rest of him knows that they're just used to him being loud and annoying and most of them don't know how to dig past the surface. He won't let the ones who know how close enough to do it anymore. 

The real problem with the god damned review was that it's _right_ , and Louis knows it. It's been increasingly more difficult to match Harry's manic energy and some part of Louis is just tired of the whole fucking thing. It's so fucking stupid, but when they'd made a promise to each other, as solemn as they could get as teenagers both heartbroken from losing and giddy on the potential to become actual, honest-to-god pop stars, they'd said they'd do this for as long as they could. But they'd never talked about what that meant. 

At the time, it had just been as long as people wanted to pay for them to do this, as long as they could remain famous. Some days Louis wants it to mean until they want to call it a day. 

Some days he does. 

His hands are shaking as he sits in the very centre of his bed and drinks his second cup of tea, angry and frustrated and scared that he's thinking about leaving in near-concrete terms, about breaking this whole thing into pieces. He's not said anything out loud, but the fact that he's got the fully formed thought in his head is bad enough. He tells himself that it's just the anger, but he's not so sure anymore. He's not happy, but they've just signed their new contract for another three albums and he likes writing. It's the thing he likes best these days, aside from not having to worry about money ever again. Loves the feeling of a melody dropping into place, flowing out and carrying more weight than the words alone. Sometimes that feels like the only thing he loves anymore. 

He throws the paper cup across the room and listens to it hit the window with a dull thunk, the tea having done nothing at all to placate his anger. It's not enough. He still wants to scream, to break things. Break everything. He could always smash the TV, but they just got to New York, and they have three more nights and even if they did replace the unit right away he doesn't want there to be gossip about him. More than there would be anyway; he's had enough bad press recently, and he does actually care what people think of him. A bit too much sometimes. He wishes there was a way to turn that part off. 

He contemplates his phone, as it would be easy enough to replace, but then he'd have to explain to Paul why his phone is suddenly fucked up and cracked to all hell, and he'd have to wait for everything to download again, which is always such a fucking pain, and he should know because Liam keeps breaking his. 

Instead of throwing it, though, he scrolls through his recent texts until he lands on person he wants to talk to. 

_I hate everything and everyone and I want to quit._

'Talk' may be overstating things a bit, but he hits send before he can think twice, because this isn't what he does. Texting definitely isn't part of this thing he's got going with Nick. But he doesn't need to talk, he needs to vent, and this is the best option. Nick is unlikely to think less of him, since Louis already uses him for his dick when he's at home, and he's not one to put up with bullshit from whiny pop stars. But a private text isn't going to end up on the radio, and Louis has ample proof that Nick fucking Grimshaw can keep a bloody secret sometimes. 

Okay, most of the time. He's pretty sure that not even Harry knows about their thing. 

The reply comes fairly quickly. 

_Poor pop star hates his life._

Nick's mocking him. It just makes Louis more angry, even though some part of him knows he deserves it. He'd expected it, too, which is why he'd ended up texting Nick and not crawling off to Zayn's room to smoke even though it's not even noon. It's not like he'd wanted a sympathetic ear, he'd have gone to the other lads for that. But even just having this small slice of sarcasm lighting up his phone, when he basically asked for it, pisses him off. He should ignore it and go find Liam. 

He starts typing instead. 

_Fucking cunt reporter fucking shit newspaper fucking shit review i'm not lacking energy or standing fucking still on stage it's such fucking bullshit. it's fucking hard playing a fucking stadium._

Nick sends back a row of smiling poo emojis, followed by a row of Zzz emojis. Louis really fucking hates emojis. He doesn't text Nick again.

~*~

He really tries, is the thing. He digs deep and finds some burst of energy and runs around the stage during the first New York show of the tour, which isn't really a New York show because the city doesn't have venues big enough for them anymore. But it is New Jersey and right next door. He goes after Liam as usual, managing to get his hat and his stupid bandana, and at one point, his microphone. Though only when Liam's not supposed to be singing because he is, sometimes, a professional.

"What's up with you?" Liam says, holding his mic away from his face. "You're acting weird." 

"I'm not," Louis protests, reaching for Liam's nipple. Liam dances out of the way and gives him a dopey grin that Louis can tell is mostly for the thousands of cameras pointed at them. 

Liam finishes a solo and then moves closer while Harry is talking. "Are you on something?" 

Louis snorts. "No more than the usual," He had shared a joint with Zayn earlier, but it's mostly worn off now anyway. Liam shoots him a concerned look that is over quickly. Louis knows he's going to want to talk later. 

Instead of waiting for an answer, Louis dives for the bandana again and sticks the landing, holding it over his head like a flag as he runs for cover behind Niall. 

He's both buzzing and more exhausted than usual by the time they finish the encore and leave the stage, though he tries not to show it as they all gather around their table for dinner. Louis kind of wants to hide, but this is the one thing he can't really get out of. 

Niall asks first, after they've all eaten at least a third of their meals without talking at all. Performing is hard work. "What was up with you tonight, Tommo?" 

Louis shrugs, not wanting to talk about that fucking review or all the burning things in his head. "It's New York. Have to put on a good show." 

"It's New Jersey," Liam says. 

"Same thing," Louis says. "The only reason we're here is because it's a bigger stadium." 

"Sure, mate," Niall says with a shrug before tilting his head back to drop a small handful of chips in his mouth. 

"You are acting weird," Harry says, stuffing a piece of sushi in his mouth. "Manic. It's just not you." 

Louis frowns at him. "Sure it is. You used to love that." 

"Two years ago, yeah," Harry says.

"Why should now be any different?" Louis nearly shouts. Out of the corner of his eyes he can see Lou half turn their way from her table. There are probably more people looking at him. He carefully lowers his voice before he keeps going. "We're still the same lads, right? So why should anything be any different at all?" He can't stop the bitterness from creeping into his voice and he knows they notice. Luckily, he's almost finished with his food so he has an excuse to leave, and escapes to the toilets for a chance to catch his breath. No one comes looking for him, not even when he spends a good ten minutes locked in a cubicle. 

By the time he gets back, everyone is cleaning up their food and re-packing their bags, so he does the same, tossing his phone and computer in, and thanking however many gods he knows that he'll be in the car with Zayn, who won't ask questions. He looks half asleep already and with a half hour ride back to their hotel, he'll probably be snoring within minutes. 

_I fucking tried tonight,_ he texts Nick once Zayn is out. _I fucking tried and it didn't make a fucking difference they all think I'm on something._ He wants to cry, but he can fucking hold it together until they get back to the hotel. 

Nick doesn't answer, which makes sense when Louis checks his world clock, because even for a Breakfast Show presenter it's early back home in London. He still hasn't got anything back by the time he's cleaned his teeth and changed and crawled into bed, and he resolutely does not pay any attention to the tears leaking out of his eyes into his pillow as he tries to fall asleep.

~*~

The thing about actually going out of your way to make an effort, Louis quickly finds, is that when you go back to doing things the usual way people notice even more: the absence of his one night only mania causes more comments from more people than he's ever seen, talking about how he looked tired and offering him tea and cuddles and the chance to fuck them. Not that Louis has ever taken that offer, or plans to. Then again, those offers aren't exactly out of the ordinary. There are also the comments wondering what he'd taken before the first New York show, and how upset Harry had been over the supposed drug use. He definitely ignores those, even if he's learned not to outright block people.

Over dinner after the show, the other lads hadn't questioned him again, though he'd seen them shooting concerned looks his way between bites. He's _fine_ , he'd wanted to scream, hoping that if he says it loud enough and often enough it'll be true. He absolutely hasn't checked his phone at all, and has no desire to know if Nick's texted him. 

They're all spending their day off in New York, so as soon as they're showered and cleaned up after the show, Louis drags Zayn out for a new tattoo, then to get lost in a club somewhere. He wants to be anonymous for one night in the low light and damp, sweaty summer weather. 

It goes about as well as expected. He gets his new tattoo low on his hip, somewhere hidden because it's not something for the fans to examine and dissect and spin elaborate theories about. It's not even about the design, really, it's about the pain and familiarity of the process, since the other thing that would help him is well out of his reach. 

After, they stay out until dawn, finishing off too many shots between them. Sometime around five, Louis stumbles off to the toilet and is greeted by the familiar sounds of fucking coming from the cubicle at the end. Both men, from the sound of it, and Louis pisses as fast as he can so he can get out before he does something really stupid, like ask to join. It would be so easy, and he could probably get away with it if he keeps his face hidden. There's a good chance that he wouldn't be recognized, but enough of one that he could, and he really doesn't need the tiniest of probabilities blowing up in his face. Instead of going back to their table, he goes out onto the dance floor and lets himself get lost in the crush. By the time they leave, Louis is exhausted and a little bit sleepy, and thinks that maybe he'll be able to get a decent number of hours in his blacked out hotel room. 

He definitely does not search for show reviews on his phone as his eyes are closing, and he does not fling his phone across the room when he finds them.

~*~

Louis wakes up to find that his head is split open, and that there's someone in the room with him, typing something and humming quietly to themselves. He groans, not opening his eyes because the light hurts too much even when they're closed. Theoretical light, anyway, since he's scrunched his face up in an effort to keep it out.

"You're awake, then," Liam says. The clacking of his keyboard stops, and his voice is gentle and soothing, but it's still way too fucking loud. 

Louis pulls the pillow over his head, trying to shut out the outside. "Ngh," he says. It's about what he can manage. He hasn't been this hungover in ages. 

"I'm putting on the kettle," Liam informs him. Louis can hear him moving around, hears the click and hiss of the kettle as it starts to boil, listens to Liam singing to himself as he rips open the packets and dumps the bags into mugs. 

"What time is it?" Louis eventually manages to ask. Words are difficult, and his voice feels like it's scratching its way out of his chest. Thank god they don't have a show tonight. 

"Half one," Liam says. "Zayn's still asleep, too." 

"We haven't got anywhere to be have we?" Louis is pretty sure they do actually have the full day to do whatever they like, but it's hard to keep track sometimes. That's what Paul is for, anyway. 

The kettle clicks off, and Louis listens to the familiar routine of Liam pouring out water for their tea. "No, we haven't. Just thought I'd come check on you." 

"I'm fine," Louis says. Well, except for the hangover. 

"You've been acting weird, mate." Liam tells him, sitting on the edge of the bed. Louis feels the dip in the mattress, but he still doesn't move. 

The familiar smell of tea cracks though Louis' refusal to deal with the world, finally, and he pulls himself up until he's sitting, and takes the cup from Liam, holding it under his nose and just inhaling it instead of drinking it right away. 

Neither of them talk until Louis gets a few sips of tea in him. It's not an instant hangover cure, but it's about as close as it gets, warming him from the inside. As his brain kicks into gear he realizes that he's going to have to come up with an explanation for the last few nights, because Liam won't leave him alone until he does. 

"There was a shit review of the show in the paper the other day," Louis says finally. "Called me the weak link." 

As expected, Liam is on his side. "Bollocks," he says. "You know that's total bollocks, right?" 

Most days, Louis thinks. Sometimes, though. Sometimes he watches the others on stage and wonders how he ended up as part of this when they're so far ahead of him, with heaps of talent that he'll never have. He doesn't tell Liam this, of course, because he doesn't want to deal with a round of Liam's too-sincere reassurances. He shrugs instead. "Stadiums are bigger than I expected, I suppose." 

Liam's eyes light up. "It's so amazing," he says. It is, and objectively Louis knows that, but he's counting this tour in shows finished, and days left until he gets to go home. Putting on a show where half the people there can't see more than a dot is more exhausting than he'd expected. It's not the only thing that's fucked up, but it's the easiest thing to talk about. 

"It's just," Louis says, trying to put his thoughts together in a way that's both coherent and not too revealing. He's glad it's Liam that's come in, since he'll ask the least questions and is most likely to take what Louis says at face value. "I don't know. The review isn't new, I guess I just saw it at the wrong time. It was in the way of my tea." 

Liam gives him a soft smile. "That what the other night was about? You were all over during the show." 

"I know." He'd hit his marks and hadn't fucked up his solos, but that had been about the only thing that had gone right. "But now that's all they want." _They_ , meaning the fans. Meaning Louis himself, in some way. Not to the extreme degree he'd pulled the other night, but he wishes he had even half of Liam's natural showmanship. Or Harry's. He used to, once upon a time. He wonders when he lost that. Or if he's just meant for smaller audiences, and the universe dumped him into the wrong group. 

"Ignore them, then," Liam says. Like he has room to talk, Louis thinks. Liam doesn't exactly have the best track record when it comes to ignoring things people say about them, but Louis manages to not point that out. He doesn't need to feel guilty about a fight with Liam, too. "You know we're just worried." 

"What, did you draw straws for who had to come talk to me?" 

"For fuck's sake Tommo, you know it's not like that."

"Yeah," he says. 

"Look, I promised Niall we'd go out for dinner tonight, but we've got hours before then, we can order up some lunch and work on those songs." 

It's not an ideal day with the hangover he's got, but he supposes he owes Liam some actual working time. "Get me some Nurofen too, please."

"I'll be right back," Liam says. Louis finishes off his tea in large gulps, even though it's still a bit too hot to be doing that. At least the burn takes his attention away from his pounding head and the entire world outside this one slightly claustrophobic hotel room. 

When he gets out of the shower, Liam is waiting for him again, and there's a trolley with food, a bottle of Nurofen, and a fresh cup of tea.

~*~

"Get off your arse, Tommo," Niall says, barging into Louis' room. "We're going out."

He's holding a football and a rather large hip flask and sporting a huge grin. 

"Where are we going?" Louis asks, though the promise of both football and drinks is enough to get him moving, even when he's arse tired after a show. He's not actually in his pyjamas yet, but it's close. 

Niall grins even wider. "The Common. Remember the first time we came over? There's a car downstairs already. Get your kit on." 

Louis does. It's after midnight, and they've got another show tomorrow, but the prospect of playing football in the near dark does wonders for his energy levels. He hasn't been able to do much more than have a tiny bit of a kickabout in the hotel hallways since they flew over here. He doesn't bother going into the en-suite to change, it's just Niall, and they've all seen way too much of each other to actually be shy anymore, even though Liam was for a while. 

"Who else is coming?" he asks as he laces up his trainers. 

"Josh, Sandy and Dan," Niall lists, tucking the ball under his arm so he can count on his fingers. "Paddy, because Liam's requested some alone time to talk to Sophia." Niall raises his eyebrows suggestively, and Louis laughs. Yeah, that'll be exactly what Liam's doing. "Paul, Alberto and Basil. More if word gets around." 

"Sounds good," Louis says. He grabs a few bottles out of his minibar to have on the way over. He's got to catch up to Niall, who has been taking steady swigs out of his hip flask as Louis has been getting dressed. He also wants to get a bit of distance between him and the show tonight. It hadn't been bad, but it hadn't been one of their best. He slipped on his vocals a few times, which had earned him a look from Zayn, if not anyone else. Fucking up songs is nothing new, but it still gets under Louis' skin when he misses his cues or his notes.

He grabs his phone from the bed, then thinks better of it. He won't need it tonight, not with what they plan on doing. And it's easier to ignore messages when he doesn't actually have it with him, so he leaves it in a drawer and follows Niall out of the room. 

They have to take three cars, and end up having enough people for a game of five-a-side. Niall passes around his hip flask, and it's empty in no time, but Josh produces another one, so it's not a problem in the end. Louis puts Alberto in goal because he's massive, and makes himself centre forward, inasmuch as they have organized positions, squaring off against Niall. 

After a few minutes of running around in the dark, Louis is more than a little bit tipsy. 

"Foul!" Niall calls, after a particularly bad run-in where Louis had literally grabbed onto Niall's shirt to keep from falling over in his attempt to get the ball. "Yellow card. You're supposed to be the footballer." 

"Part of the game," Louis says, smug. "It was an accident." He's still holding Niall's shirt, though. Not really because he needs it to stay upright, but because it's nice, having Niall around. Also, Niall is now holding onto his shoulder, and the ball is lying a few feet away. 

"Drink?" Niall offers a flask, and Louis takes it. The whisky burns going down his throat, but he hardly notices it any more, honestly. It's warm and sticky outside, and his clothes are dripping wet from the little bit of running around he's done, and it feels like he's breathing water. At the same time, though, getting a chance to run around without being shot for a video or having fans follow them around has been nice. He doesn't need to watch his behaviour more than necessary to keep Niall from asking questions, and he's not going to because they're both knackered and drunk, and there's a football game on. Supposedly. 

Louis breaks free from Niall's grip and goes after the ball again. His run on the goal is a bit wobbly, but no one really comes after him, and soon enough it's sailing past Paul and he's taking his victory lap. 

They don't play much after that, mostly just chase each other through the Common and occasionally kick the ball (okay, Louis tries to practice a few tricks but he's pants at it with his coordination this bad, and for once he doesn't feel bad about it because he knows it's because he's pissed) until Paul tells them that it's nearing three in the morning and they need to get back and sleep. 

It's not until they're halfway back to the hotel that Louis even thinks to reach for his phone. There's a bit of a panic when he can't find it in his pocket, because having someone stumble on it in the grass tomorrow would be beyond horrible, but before he can get too worked up, he remembers that he'd left it behind anyway. There's no real reason for him to need it right now, except to check on what people said about the concert, but it would at least give him something to do with his hands. 

By the time they get back, Louis is cooler from the air conditioning in the car, but still sticky, which means he needs another shower before he can sleep. Before he does, he texts his mum because she'll be up by now and it's been a few days since they've been able to catch each other on Skype, between travelling and shows and the tiny twins. He misses her a lot sometimes, and it's not that he wants her to come on tour, but it's hard when he can't carve out time to talk to her, and texting is a poor substitute. She sends him a new picture of the twins whilst he's in the shower, and he falls asleep quickly and easily.

~*~

They climb onto the bus a few hours after the last Philadelphia show, and Louis is in a foul mood. It's not the show, really; that had been fine, it's that he hasn't managed to get a moment to himself in days. Not since Boston, after he'd come in from their midnight drunken football game. That's the last good thing he can think about right now, and it's been a full week, if he's counting correctly. It's hard to tell.

The night after the football, Liam had insisted on a film night on the bus, Niall had insisted on going out in Washington again, (and Louis had to concede that the burgers had been excellent), and Zayn had come into his hotel room in Philadelphia and promptly fallen asleep whilst Louis tried to watch football. 

And now, they've only got one day between shows, and a full night's drive, according to Google maps. America is too fucking big. They'd eaten and showered at the venue after the show, sent the buses away and waited until the fans cleared out to be picked up, and now they just have endless hours of the road in front of them. 

Louis decides to take a stand on his right to be left alone, so he grabs his laptop and his phone and crawls into his bunk, closing the curtains and blocking out all the light, even if it does nothing about the noise of everyone else getting settled and prepared to leave. He's just opening up his email when Liam pulls the curtain back and pokes his head in. 

"Come on, we're having a FIFA tournament," Liam says. "Niall's with us tonight, at least until the halfway point." 

"We have rules," Louis points out. The most sacred of which is that closed curtains are locked doors, you don't open them unless there's actual business going. 

"We need you," Liam says. "We need one more player for even teams." 

"I'm sleeping," Louis says. "I'm knackered and we've got ages on the road." 

"You've got your laptop open, you're not sleeping." 

"The door was fucking closed, Liam, I could have been doing anything." 

Liam does make a face at that, because that's another rule on the bus: no wanking when the bus is moving, because no one can escape. "Then that's your own rule violation and we're even." 

Louis hadn't actually been planning on breaking that one, he's insisted on strict adherence by all parties since that one time with Niall on their first tour, and he's not actually in the mood for it anyway. He really does want sleep, and he wants a few seconds with no one bothering him. Liam needs to understand this. 

"I'm just not up for it tonight," Louis says. 

But Liam's got a deadly case of puppy eyes, and it's been ages since they've had enough time for a proper tournament so he can't really say no. He'd feel way too guilty. 

"Fine," he relents. "Just give me a minute." 

Liam grins. "If you're not out in five we're starting without you." He closes the curtains when he goes and Louis shuts his laptop again, without having looked at anything. He's now got a deadline to shed his mood, or at least to be able to hide it effectively. 

He doesn't want to text his mum when he's feeling this rotten, and he doesn't fancy having a conversation with anyone where the rest of the bus can overhear, so he pulls up Nick's name and starts typing. _I'm fucking ready for this tour to be over. can't get a fucking moment to myself._

Nick doesn't text back while Louis slowly watches the clock tick down on his five minutes, stomach getting tighter as the time keeps going. He wishes he could escape onto the other bus where Harry's probably got Lou playing with his hair, but they're already moving and he's trapped for the next several hours, until they stop for petrol and to switch drivers. He doesn't feel any better when it's over, but he's out of options, so he pastes a smile on his face and heads back to the lounge. 

Liam has a cup of tea waiting for him when he sits down, and just for a moment his annoyance at Liam for disturbing him vanishes because Liam knows him so well. If maybe he pounds the buttons a bit harder than he needs to for a while, no one comments on it. 

They play for hours, pulling snacks and fizzydrinks out of the cabinets, making a right mess out of the lounge. By the time they stop, though, even Niall is yawning, and Zayn has barely been holding onto consciousness for the last hour. Louis is tired, but feeling a bit better, even if he's not sure the controller is long for this world. It's alright, it'll be replaced as soon as it breaks. 

Niall hugs them all goodnight when they stop, and goes back to his bus, and this time when Louis climbs into his own bunk, Liam doesn't break the rules and try to stop him.

The first thing he does is check his phone, where he finds he's got a message from Nick. _How awful it must be to have adoring fans everywhere you go._

Just like that, Louis is annoyed again, though it's different this time, he's just mad at Nick, who keeps texting him back, and never asking him to stop, but never doing anything other than mock him. He doesn't even like Nick, doesn't expect anything nice back from him, but he still hates that all he gets is mocking. 

_Not the fans_ , Louis types back. _the lads. won't leave me the fuck alone. Just want to come home._

 _So do it,_ Nick sends back a minute later. _It's not like you have a job to do or anything. Not like you have people who have paid hundreds of pounds to see you lot do nothing on stage._

Fuck him, just _fuck_ him. Louis has seen Nick in their audience before, seen his signs for Harry, seen Harry spend entire shows laughing back and forth with him, and he keeps coming back, every fucking time they're in London. Where does he get off saying their show is boring? 

_Fuck you_ , he texts back, and shuts off his phone. 

The really awful part is that Nick knows full well what the reviews for their show say, because it keeps coming up and Louis keeps texting Nick about it. It never accomplishes anything, never makes him feel even the least bit better, even when Nick is silent instead of mocking him, but having Nick throw it back in his face is ten times worse. So he throws the phone to the foot of his bunk and tries to close his eyes and fall asleep, but he only seems to manage a few minutes. 

As soon as they arrive at the hotel in Detroit he requests a key and stomps upstairs to a room, leaving his computer and phone on the bus.

~*~

Zayn's there in his room when Louis wakes up. He's got headphones in and a sketchbook out and he's busy drawing something. Louis must make a sound, because Zayn looks up and sees his open eyes. He doesn't talk, though, so Louis pulls the blanket over his head and goes back to sleep. It's their day off anyway.

Zayn's still there when Louis finally gets up somewhere in the middle of the afternoon. They end up on the balcony overlooking the courtyard of the hotel, which is blissfully clear of people, passing a joint back and forth. They don't talk much, which is just fine. Zayn's not one to ask questions, he's the one who sits back and lets you answer them on your own time. More often than not it works for him, but this still isn't going to be something Louis talks about. 

He knows Zayn brought his phone and computer in for him, along with a change of clothes, but Louis doesn't go near the table where his bag is sitting, only half full. Just enough things to get him through the day and into tomorrow when he's got a show to do. 

"You alright?" Zayn asks once they've ordered room service and Zayn's put down his phone for a few minutes. 

Louis shrugs. He's mostly okay, most of the time. Except for the creeping feeling that he's about to fuck everything up for himself and everyone else. But that's mostly manageable so long as the crowds are so fucking loud. Anything to block out his own thoughts. "Sure," he eventually says, mostly to fill the silence that's beating down on them. It's not an uncomfortable one at all, it's never uncomfortable with Zayn, but Louis just can't stand any of it right now. 

Zayn doesn't ask anything else, which is nice, and they don't leave the room even for dinner.

~*~

Louis comes out of the shower after Houston to find Harry lounging on his bed in his pants, a tray of room service next to the table and a plate of chips on Harry's chest. Louis wants to scream. He'd very deliberately made no plans for tonight so that he could have one fucking night to himself.

And Zayn hasn't offered him so much as a blunt for days, even though he's been camping out wherever Louis happens to be. Not that Louis can't get his own, thank you very much, but sharing is caring and all that. 

What he wants tonight is a smoke and a few hours on his own. 

"Did you have a secret band meeting?" 

Harry looks away, and suddenly Louis _knows_ , because Harry's never been all that good at lying. 

"What the fuck, Harry?" Louis doesn't shout, but only barely. 

Harry continues to much on his chips, examining each one for vinegar before shoving it into his mouth and chewing slowly. "You were being weird," Harry says, finally, plate nearly clean. He sets it aside, and Louis crosses his arms, his towel hanging low on his waist. 

"I have not," Louis says. "I'm fine." 

Harry doesn't answer directly. "Liam told us about the review," Harry says. "He thinks that's it. But that was weeks ago." The implied, _and you're still behaving oddly_ hangs in the air. 

Harry is still talking incredibly slowly. Sometimes Louis wishes he could just grab Harry by the shoulders and shake his words out because waiting for him to finish his thoughts can be intolerable. He balls his hands into fists and twists them tighter across his chest so he doesn't do just that. Louis very carefully doesn't say anything and just waits for Harry to get to the point so that he doesn't answer more than what Harry asks. 

"You're unhappy, aren't you?" 

That's a fairly broad question, so Louis gives it a broad answer. "Tour is rough, Haz. I hate moving around so much. You _know_ that." 

Harry narrows his eyes, and studies Louis, who is still standing in his towel and dripping onto the carpet. "It's more than that, though," Harry says. "You never want to do anything with any of us anymore. Only when we find you or when it's all of us together and you can't get out of it. Do you not like us anymore?" 

Louis breathes out because Harry's landed on exactly the wrong question, but also the right one. He loves his boys, and he always will, that hasn't changed, even as Louis likes his own company less and less each day. Even though the only thing he wants right now is to be left alone. 

"'Course I love you lot," Louis says, keeping his voice light. "You'll never be rid of me." 

"Is that really true, though?" 

It's definitely a lie. Louis just wants to finish up with the band, however long that takes, and disappear. He longs for the day when no one wants to see him. When no one needs him around, when he's not the last piece of a multi-million pound puzzle. " _Yes_ ," Louis says. "How is it impossible that I just want a night to myself?" 

Harry doesn't move from Louis' bed, he just shrugs. "Haven't seen much of you lately, is all." 

God, Louis hopes Harry isn't going to launch into a nostalgic fit, he can't handle it right now. "Look, I just need a night off," Louis says, trying not to let the bitterness in his head creep into his tone. Thank god for years of vocal training. He thinks he goes too far to the flippant end of the scale, since Harry gives him an odd look. "We'll do dinner tomorrow or something," Louis promises. "Can I just be on my own tonight?" 

Harry nods, and unfolds his legs, reaching for his sweats which are pooled by the side of the bed. He moves to leave, but not without a detour to hug Louis. He clings hard and long, but somehow it doesn't manage to break through Louis' mood. Harry's hugs have never failed him before. But then, Louis' never been this far into his own head. 

"You can talk to me, you know," Harry says. "about anything." 

_How about how I let your best friend fuck me whenever we're home? How about how that's the only time I feel like myself anymore? Or how I've probably fucked that up too._ Louis doesn't say any of that, though. He just gives Harry enough of a squeeze that he'll go away, and Louis gets his room to himself again. Hopefully it'll last for the night. 

He texts Nick after he's dressed and has eaten the rest of the food Harry left behind. _Tell Haz to lay the fuck off_. Louis ignores the part where Harry has no idea that they even talk, or have met more than the times they've run into each other at industry things, or when Nick's tagged along after Harry to photoshoots and the like. 

_I'm not your fucking messenger boy_ , comes Nick's response, half an hour later. 

Louis scowls at his mobile, wishing he could just send a picture of his scowling face back. But that would be stupid. _I had to kick him out. Wouldn't leave me alone. None of them will._

Nick doesn't respond, and Louis very deliberately doesn't check his world clock to figure out if Nick's awake early or if he's in the middle of his show. Instead, he turns on the telly and finds some match somewhere, even though American football is a crap sport, and turns the volume way up, loud enough that he doesn't hear when he gets a text, and only notices hours later. 

_they do care about you. Harry's worried._

Where the fuck does Harry get off talking about band business to Nick fucking Grimshaw? 

He pulls up the last group text from Liam and sends out, _No more secret meetings. I'm fine._

To Nick, he sends, _Fuck off. I'm fine. Stay out of it._

He doesn't wait around to see if anyone responds, he just tosses his phone into his open suitcase where he won't hear it, and turns the volume up even louder, but he doesn't sleep for hours.

~*~

His tantrum, even if Louis doesn't want to call it that, only buys him one night off.

It's a non-show day, but there's not much in the city, so Louis just stays in his room. He means to get some business things taken care of. There's emails from the label and their other songwriters to reply to, first tracking of the new songs to listen to. So he does all these things, and doesn't look at his phone all day. It stays where it landed last night, in his suitcase, even when he can hear it vibrating. 

Niall comes looking for him mid-afternoon, doesn't bother knocking, just uses a key and barges right in. 

"Get up Tommo. We're going out." 

Louis looks out the crack in his curtains, at the fans swarmed around the hotel. "In that?" 

"Yep!" Niall says cheerfully. "Got it planned out with Paul. We'll get out of this hotel and go somewhere." 

Louis can't say no to Niall, the one time he'd tried Niall had just plonked down on Louis' sofa, ordered chips and extra ketchup, and refused to leave until Louis agreed to do something. Louis doesn't want more chips today, he'd had a plate with a sandwich at lunch. 

So he gets dressed and tucks his mobile into his pocket without looking at it. The battery has to be nearly dead, he can't remember the last time he plugged it in. Besides, if he's out with Niall and Paul and maybe others, so if anyone needs him immediately they can find him through them. It's just that he feels naked going out without his phone, and he's not Harry, doesn't like to get his kit off in front of everyone. 

They're in Dallas, as it turns out, and they end up at a barbeque restaurant with an oyster bar, where Niall stuffs his face and spends a lot of time complaining loudly that he can't have a pint to wash it down. Louis takes great delight in getting one for himself and only taking sips when he knows Niall is looking. 

He ends up with a dead arm and a horrible stomach ache from eating too much, but it's the best he's felt in ages, and when they get back, hours and hours later, he falls into bed and sleeps the full night.

~*~

Louis is so tired by the time they finish the last show in Chicago. Their plane takes off at midnight, and Louis sleeps through the full flight, until they land at Luton in the middle of the day back in England. He's fucked up from the time zones, and he's fucked up from how badly he's handled the tour this time, and he's fucked up because he can't get a fucking moment to himself.

His car takes him home and he falls into bed and sleeps for the entire afternoon, thankful for the blackout curtains he'd invested in when he bought the house. 

He's still tired when he wakes up, but this time it's the old familiar jet lag which he's well used to by now. It's nearly nine, and just getting dark outside, so he decides to just pick up a cab outside instead of calling for the car service. It's faster. 

By the time he knocks on Nick's door it's nearing what he knows is Nick's weeknight bedtime, but he's there anyway. And he even has a kebab. 

"Didn't expect to see you," Nick says instead of hello. He's already just in tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt, hair sticking up all over the place, glasses on instead of contacts. Louis stomach lurches weirdly, but he ignores it and pushes past Nick into his flat. He knows he wasn't followed here, but he's uncomfortable standing outside for too long most days. 

"Just got back to London," Louis says. "Haven't seen you for a while." He holds out the kebab in the bag. 

Nick just stares at him. "Why are you here?" He sounds puzzled, and demanding, and he's just standing by the door, arms hanging awkwardly by his side. 

Louis holds out the kebab again. "I brought tea." 

NIck just keeps looking at him, and Louis crumbles a bit. Just enough to get one more sentence out. "You know why I'm here." 

"Is it going to be like the last time?" Nick asks. He's not moving towards Louis or taking off his clothes yet, which is not a good sign. Fuck, Louis needs this before he has to go back to America, to Liam and Niall's birthday party at Harry's new, huge Los Angeles house. 

Louis shrugs, not knowing which answer is going to get Nick's cock up his arse faster. 

"Get out," Nick says, reaching for the door. His voice is low and a bit shaky, but there's nothing shaky about the resolve he can see in Nick's eyes. 

Louis kicks his shoes against the floor, kebab bag bouncing against his knees. "Why?" he asks, because he has to know. "Nothing's changed." 

"Yeah, it has," Nick says. "And if you can't see that you need to leave. And not come back. I can't do the last time again." His voice softens a bit. "I don't think you want to, either." 

Louis swallows, trying to combat against something that's threatening to spill out of him. He can't, though. This is just something he needs sometimes, it's desperate and ugly and he fucking needs it. Needs it from Nick, who won't spill his secrets. It's one of the few safe things he has left. Things he doesn't have to share with the world, with the other boys. This is _his,_ and Louis doesn't know what to do if he's really being sent away. 

"Fine," he says, because he can't say anything else. He drops the kebab on the hall table and pushes past Nick to the door. "See you around." 

And then Louis is gone, lingering in Nick's doorway just long enough to hear him flick the latch on the Yale lock, the sound of it hitting home triggering something like lost hope in Louis' mind. He feels close to tears, for some reason. He shouldn't need this. Maybe it's better this way, without a crutch. 

There's a cab coming and Louis hurries up the road to catch it. When he gets home he grabs his still packed bag, throws it in his car and texts his mum that he's coming up for a few days. She's always happy to see him. 

It's a several hour drive, but late at night there's no traffic. Still, though, by the time he pulls up by Dan's house, it's mostly dark, but he finds a mug with a teabag on the counter, along with a few biscuits, and the sofa is made up with sheets and pillows and blankets. 

He makes his tea and checks his phone while he drinks it. He's got a bunch of Snapchats from Niall, who stayed in America, and who is currently roaming around Los Angeles with Harry. Liam's sent him several badly spelled messages about getting some writing time in, but mostly he's planning to celebrate his twenty first birthday at the Funky Buddha, even though the day itself was last week. Nothing from Zayn, which is to be expected, and a few from Harry asking if he's okay. He sends one text to Liam saying that he'll be back in London later in the week (he hasn't decided when he's coming back, but if he's honest it's probably not going to be until just before they leave to go back to America). Liam will tell the others, and that's enough. Louis turns off his phone and huddles under the blankets on the sofa, trying to get to sleep in the too-quiet of his mum's house. 

It's not quiet when he wakes up. He's got one twin on top of him, and one in the process of being so whilst Fizzy is laughing off to the side. When he cracks his eyes open, he sees Lottie in her pyjamas looking dishevelled but happy. 

"When did you get back?" she asks, not looking up from her phone. 

Louis carefully gathers Phoebe into his arms so he can sit up without dumping her completely off the settee. She clings to him even after they stop moving and he buries his face in her hair. 

"Got back yesterday and drove up last night after I'd slept a bit. Have about a week before I have to get back." He looks up from Phoebe to see his mum in the doorway, holding Doris to her chest. She's bigger even than she was a few months ago, and he hates that he's missing so much of their lives, even if he's now able to spoil them all rotten when he's home. He holds his hands out for the baby, and cradles her easily to his chest, making sure his arm is under her neck even if she doesn't need it, the motion long-familiar from helping out when all his sisters were little. 

Her cheeks are so soft, and she snuffles into his chest, wriggling a bit before settling down, eyes wide open and looking up at him. He wants to cry a bit, because he should be around every day. She's his littlest sister, and she should know him as more than just a kind stranger with comfortable arms. He strokes her cheeks again, and tries not to cry. 

"How long are you here, then?" His mum asks, coming back into the room and sitting down next to him with Ernest.

Louis shrugs. "Niall and Liam's party is in Los Angeles before the shows, but there's nothing else going on break." 

"Good," she says, knocking her shoulder into his. "You can watch the kids whilst I work next week. I've got a ridiculous number of things to do. It'll be just like old times, yeah?"

Louis smiles. Things will never be quite like old times again, back when he was trying to hold down crap jobs and help his mother out with tiny twins, and maybe scrape together enough GCSEs and A levels to move up above working at the cinema, but the fundamentals are still there, and he loves babies. Especially now that he has a baby brother, too. 

"Of course," he says, letting Doris grab at his fingers. She's got a pretty good grip, and she tugs his fingers to her mouth, chewing on them softly. God, he loves them. Misses when his sisters were this small, even if things are easier for everyone these days. "Shouldn't the rest of you lot be back at school by now?" Louis asks. He's long since lost track of the school calendars, but it's early September, and they're home mid-morning on a Monday. 

"Tomorrow," Fizzy says, sitting down next to him and leaning over Doris.

"I guess we'll have to go shopping for all of your stuff," Louis says. He doesn't particularly want to go out much, but this is something he can do for his sisters, even if nothing will make up for all the time he's missed in the last four years. 

"Mum and Dan took us last week," Fizzy says. 

Louis frowns. What use is all of his money if he can't do these things for his family? 

"But we never say no to shopping," Lottie says, a sly smile on her face. Yeah, he can work with that. Pester Lottie about what she's doing with her friends these days, all the things she doesn't post on Instagram or Twitter. She takes Ernest and sits down next to Louis, phone on the sofa next to her. She's playing with Ernest, making faces down at him and he's smiling back, delighted by the game and grabbing for her hair. 

He can't deny that he's jealous, but there's not much he can do about his schedule these days. As much as he wants to pull out some days, he can't do that to the lads. If he had a choice, though, he'd probably stay here forever, on his mum's sofa, surrounded by his siblings. Doris kicks out and hits him in the chest, so he turns his attention to her, letting her smiling face distract him from everything else.

They stay that way all day; his mum and Dan come and go, as do Fizzy and Lottie, but Louis stays in the living room on the sofa and the floor, chatting with the big twins, and playing with the little ones. There's toys everywhere, and the living room is an absolute tip by the end of the day, causing his mum to shake her head and smile at him when she comes in with bags from the shop for tea, but it feels calm to Louis. That's something he never thought he'd find, calm in a house with seven children. 

He feeds the babies in the kitchen whilst his mum makes tea for the rest of them, making faces at them as he goes, falling easily into the routine of baby care again. He was sort of terrible at it the first time, the way he was terrible at everything else back then, but his sisters don't seem to be any worse off for it, and his mum isn't stepping in to sweep the babies out of his arms. 

"Not that I don't love seeing you," Jay says, "but what are you doing here?" 

"Do I need a reason to come and see you all?" Louis asks, not turning away from the babies. 

She hums behind him, but doesn't say anything for a while. Louis watches carefully as Ernest smears baby food across his cheek.

"Never," she says, coming over to hug him from behind, sliding an arm around his chest. He hugs it tight, not wanting to let go; he hasn't been hugged like this for as long as he can remember. Probably the last time he was home, which was ages ago, or at least feels like it. The boys don't count, really. They're his best friends now, but they weren't his best friends when he was an absolute failure at everything he tried. Everything's been so fucking golden since he met them. 

"You just don't visit us without planning it for months anymore, love." She kisses the top of his head and he sighs into it. "I'm not complaining, though. I love seeing you. Always." 

Louis can't tell her how much of a mess things are. She's got two young babies and is going back to work. He can't make her life harder, he's supposed to be making it easier. "I just had some time off, and no one's in London," he says. "Thought I'd come bother you lot instead." 

He doesn't look at her to see her reaction. He knows she can hear at least part of what he's not saying, but that doesn't mean he's going to spill it out. What he wants is for her to let it go for now, let him have his week with his siblings, help out and to get to know the littlest twins, since he's not going to see them for months once he leaves. 

"Alright," she says. "There's always a bed for you." 

Louis does turn around at that. 

"A sofa, at least. And it's going to stay that way until you buy me a new house like Zayn did." He laughs with her, and feels lighter than he has for ages.

~*~

Louis doesn't dig out his phone for two days, but he does have to check the schedule for their flights back. He's got about one hundred missed texts and even more emails, but he sifts through until he finds the ones from Paul, with flight information. They fly on Sunday, which means he should go back to London on Saturday. He has two more days with the kids. It's not as much as he wants, but it's more than he'd expected, which is good.

He sends a quick message to Paul letting him know that he's seen the itinerary, and looks through the messages Liam's sent, half of which are just his standard drunken texts, since he's been living at the Funky Buddha the last few days. 

Liam has sent one picture he doesn't expect, because that's Nick, arm slung easily around Liam's shoulders, wide smile, hair piled up into a high quiff. It's been sent to the group chat, with the message, _Says you owe him drinks and he wants his shirt back, Haz. Also hi to the rest._

Red hot jealousy burns in Louis' chest, because Liam makes it seem so easy, to be able to run into Nick at lunch somewhere, to chat and snap a stupid picture and pass on messages. Louis looks at the timestamp on Harry's response, and finds that it's about three minutes later, so there's every possibility that Liam really had been the go-between for a minute, probably laughing as he does, the two of them talking easily about whatever bonkers thing Harry's most recently done, probably not mentioning him at all. 

Louis isn't sure if he's happy about that, or angry. Because no one knows about this thing with Nick, and there's no reason for anyone to know, so Liam wouldn't know to ask. Not that he'd do that anyway. 

_Saw you ran into Liam. He passed on your greetings. Did you even mention my name?_

He's not sure why he's contacting Nick now, after the other night. Nick actually wants nothing to do with him, but Louis can't help but poke at the things that hurt. He has to remind himself that they do, sometimes. 

Nick gets back to him an hour later. _Why would I?_

Louis wants to cry at that, but he goes to pick up Ernest instead, holding him close and making faces at him. He's got two more days here before he has to go back to London and then America and the lads and the tour and the lack of any time to himself.

~*~

There's a car waiting for them as they come out of customs at John Wayne Airport, and no photographers; benefits of this being band travel, which means private airplanes and private terminals. It's Sunday afternoon, and it's been Sunday roughly forever, as far as Louis can tell, given that it's somewhere around midnight back home, but still broad daylight out here. It's never going to end. They've got some meetings on Tuesday before the party, but that's the only thing on the schedule, which means Louis can just sleep until he's needed. This tour is wearing him out, and he's just had a full week off.

Maybe it was the babies, though. Babies take a lot of time and attention. Louis thinks about protesting when he hears Paul giving the driver Harry's address, asking to be dropped at a hotel in Hollywood somewhere instead of a house full of people, but Harry had specifically asked everyone to stay at his for the week, and no one can say no to him.

Louis has only seen the house in pictures before, first of Harry texting the official ones around saying he was looking, then picture after picture on Harry's phone, handed around the dinner table on tour as the house was painted and filled up with furniture and decorations. By the time they actually arrive and step inside, it feels like a home. Like Harry spun around and some magic attached his personality to the walls. It's warm out, since it's late summer in Southern California, and Louis is still bundled up in his sweatshirt from the plane, but it hardly matters because the first thing he wants to do is fall face-first into a bed. 

"Oh no you don't," Harry says when Louis asks about his room. "You're going to help me with decorations." 

"Hire someone," Louis says. It's only logical – they've got the means to be able to do it. 

Harry pouts at him. "Successful parties are about a personal touch. I've been working on it all week." 

Louis _knows_ that is patently false. Liam had spent half their time on the plane filling Louis in on all the things he'd missed while sequestered off with his family, and half of it was pictures Harry had been sending of things he'd been doing that weren't making roughly a thousand tiny Irish and Batman flags on toothpicks. 

"They're for the fairy cakes," Harry insists, tongue poking out between his teeth as he corrals his fingers into sticking the flags together in a more or less even arrangement. "See?" 

"Why does Zayn get to sleep, then?" Louis grumbles. 

Harry doesn't bother to answer, because they all know what Zayn's like when he doesn't get his full sixteen hours. 

When Niall comes back just before dinner, golf bag slung over his shoulders, Harry quickly shoos him out of the dining room. It's been overrun with banners that Louis had very rightfully pointed out should not be _their_ job. 

"It's not a surprise party!" Niall calls over his shoulder as he walks back out to the pool, where Liam's enjoying the last bits of evening sun. Louis is still in his hoodie, which now has tiny bits of paper and Sellotape clinging to it. 

"Can I at least get a drink?" Louis asks, because it's hours later and his fingers hurt. 

Harry hums without picking up his head from where he's drawing something on a banner next to Liam's name that may, if you squint, be Iron Man. There's a lot of yellow and red, if not anything resembling a human shape. 

While Harry is squinting down at the banner, Louis escapes through to the kitchen to grab a Corona from the fridge and then he escapes further into the entryway, looking for anyone who can tell him where his room is. They've just come back from their break, and they have another four weeks on the road, and he's not about to let them smother him like they were before. Of course, this means convincing them that he's perfectly fine, which is harder said than done. He really needs a nap first.

~*~

Louis is actually ready for the party by the time it rolls around on Tuesday evening. Liam had woken him obscenely early (late, to his messed up internal clock) to go surfing in Pyramid Cove on Monday morning. The waves had looked amazing, but proved to be far too much for either of them, and they'd wiped out a handful of times each before Paddy had all but literally dragged them out of the water and given them a lecture about safety and tour responsibility.

Not that it had made much of a difference in the end on their plans for the day, because they'd ended up just sitting on the boat just off shore with food and drinks, getting sunburned and thinking about nothing more than maybe attempting one more wave. The force of Paddy's glare kept them from doing more than splashing around in the cold saltwater every so often, until they're reluctantly pulled from the water and driven back to Harry's. 

Even Tuesday's meetings hadn't gone badly: they'd mostly talked about the upcoming album, and voted on the next single. Routine, really. They'd had a nice lunch, catered by some high end restaurant, and talked about music in between. A business day that hadn't felt like one. 

Now, back at Harry's house in the middle of the afternoon, it's insane. There are people all over setting up, bringing trays of food and glasses and drinks in. Harry's banners have been hung (after having been improved immensely by Zayn) and there are two smartly dressed waiters carefully poking toothpick flags into fairy cakes. For the first time since he'd arrived, they get dragged upstairs and out of the way of the chaos, where there's a comfortable lounge and an X-box set up. 

"You seem better," Harry says over the opening screen of FIFA.

Louis scowls, but Harry's not looking so he probably doesn't notice. He's too busy flipping through the menu to bring up the game itself. "I was fine before," he says. "but it was nice seeing the little twins. And everyone else. I never get time anymore." 

"So it was just tour exhaustion, then?" Harry asks. "Only, I've never seen you that bad." 

"Just hit me harder this year I suppose," Louis says. "Going back to it after having a few months off made things worse I think. Didn't realize how much I missed home." 

Harry knocks his shoulder. "I'm glad," he says. Niall comes in then, and Liam, and they crowd onto the sofa, trying to find the best view. Louis gets more than one elbow to the side, but gives as good as he gets, so both Liam and Harry are squawking at him by the time he's comfortable. 

The invitations for the party say eight, but it's nearer to ten by the time the party feels like it's in full swing. Harry's house is full, and people are spilling out into the courtyard by the pool and trampling the grass. Harry doesn't seem to mind, just moves in and out of the crowd of their crew and their friends, and what feels like everyone they've ever met who were planning to be anywhere near town today. Also, Liam's sisters and Niall's dad. 

Louis has quite a few drinks, and wanders outside to smoke with Zayn more than once. Niall comes out to share a few times as well. No one asks how he's feeling, and by the end of the night he feels normal enough, and apparently acts normal enough, that they let him go to his own room without an escort. When he checks his phone, there are a few new pictures from his mum of the babies, a few Snapchats from Stan of his frowning face since he hadn't been able to get away from work to come out for the party, and a few new emails that he can deal with in the morning. Or afternoon, most likely. 

There's nothing else, and he tells himself that it's for the best. He hadn't been expecting anything anyway, and things with Nick had completely stopped when he'd been in London. They'd not been texting anything more than shit anyway, Louis taking out his frustration on someone who wasn't involved, and who wouldn't mind (or so he'd thought). Still, now that he's drunk and knackered and facing the prospect of another month of long coach trips and being swarmed constantly, he misses the space Nick used to occupy in his life. 

_It's no big deal_ he tells himself as he closes his eyes, phone face down on the night stand. _It's only a month._

~*~

Louis wakes up in his bunk on the bus in Phoenix to find that his mentions on Twitter have gone more bananas than usual. It takes a lot to get his attention usually, given that he gets floods of tweets from people all day long, but sometimes there's just an extra bit of insanity. He doesn't check it right away, because it's too early and they'd been traveling all night, and have only just pulled into the hotel. He's not going inside this time, the bus is nice and cool, and all his things are here. And there's no chance that someone will get pictures off the security cameras.

He stumbles out of the tiny bus toilet and into the lounge where he puts the kettle on before collapsing immediately onto the sofa, and opens Twitter, clicking on his mentions to see what the hell happened while he was asleep. 

It's about Nick. Of course it's about Nick, less than two weeks after he cut Louis out completely. He spends about two minutes browsing Twitter before realizing that he's not going to figure out what happened from his mentions because most of it's directed at Nick, not him. He winces when he sees what they're saying too. Floods of people telling Nick to eat glass again, and worse. So much worse. _Fuck_ , people are awful. 

There are two easy options to figure out what the hell happened: one, he asks Harry, who listens to Nick's show sometimes when they're on the road and they've got time. But that would mean explaining to Harry why he needs to know. It's unlikely that Harry would see through any excuse and cut straight to the heart of the matter, since he's on Twitter too, and Louis knows he searches his friends sometimes. And right now there's a worldwide trend of #louisvoiceisbest. Not that trends about them are anything new. 

The other option is to listen to the show himself, which will take a few hours, but then they've not got anything going today. Whilst his tea is brewing he fetches his headphones from his bunk and downloads the iPlayer app, searching for The Breakfast Show. He's got it playing by the time his tea is perfect. 

The thing is, for as long as he's had his thing going with Nick, Louis has never actually listened to his show, not on purpose. It's been playing in friends' cars and cabs when he's been in them before, but he never turns on Radio 1 when Nick is on. When he can't help hearing it, he's got very good at ignoring it and concentrating on other things. So now, to actually listen to the show is something new. Via Harry, Louis knows the names and faces of all the people who work on Nick's team, but he doesn't know their voices and it takes a while to match them up in his head. 

He's half an hour into the show and most of the way through his tea when Liam comes in, dripping with sweat, and starts talking about how nice it is outside. 

"I'm not going for a run with you," Louis says, because this should be obvious by now. 

Liam rolls his eyes. Louis is so proud of him. "Paul talked to the university and they're letting us use one of their fields for football later. Rope it off so the students can't come out." 

"Cool." He'd paused the show when Liam came in, in the middle of a link where Nick was talking about going to karaoke at the weekend, and he sort of wants to hear the end of it, but Liam is taking his time at the tiny counter, pouring water and setting the kettle, but also going back and forth to his bunk, gathering things to go inside. The kettle clicks off when Liam is rummaging through his bunk, and when he comes back he doesn't go near it. 

"Tell Niall about the football? I'm going inside for a bit." 

Louis shrugs, and then Liam is gone. He hits play and pours himself a new cup of tea, because the water is nice and hot and it would be a waste otherwise. 

It's hours later, because a tour bus is crap for privacy and for some reason Louis doesn't want to keep the show on when there are other people around, when Louis finally figures it out, figures out what went wrong overnight. It's Showquizness again, because somehow when things go wrong with Nick in public it's always that stupid game. 

"We all know Grimey is not a crooner," says Showbot. "But can you name five pop stars that are worse singers than Nick Grimshaw?" 

The caller, a giggly girl from Plymouth called Sonia, umms a bit over the music before she starts talking. "That's a bit unfair." 

"Go on," Nick says. "No one's listening. Name as many pop stars as you can that are worse singers than me. We'll start your time over." 

The bouncy music starts again. 

"Rhianna?" there's a buzz and that the answer is wrong. "Ed Sheeran? Taylor Swift?" A ding which must be a right answer, and a buzz, so clearly it's meant to be complete nonsense. "Umm, Harry Styles?" Ding. "Louis Tomlinson." Buzz. Luckily the music ends there. 

"Time is up," Showbot announces. "Grimey, your turn." 

Nick doesn't name any of them, but he wins with Adele, Jess Glynne and Haim.

Louis turns it off after that, not even sticking around long enough to hear who won. He has absolutely no idea how that tiny bit of nonsense on the radio sparked that much hate just because his name was mentioned. That was literally nothing. He's had professional papers print much worse things about him before. Worse things have been printed lately. He doesn't think about it too much as he goes into his text messages and brings up Nick's name, after having to scroll quite a ways down to find the most recent message. 

_Sorry about the mess today people are shit._

He hits send before he can think twice about it, then goes to get dressed to play football. When he comes back, there's a message waiting. 

_Not your fault but thanks._

Louis smiles a bit stupidly at his phone before schooling his face into something more neutral and exhausted just in case anyone comes looking for him. Maybe he hasn't lost everything, then.

~*~

It's been years now, and Louis still hasn't mastered time zones, but when he spills back onto the bus in El Paso sometime long after midnight, after going out with Niall and Liam — both of them still riding the high of being able to legally drink stateside —,he checks the iPlayer to see what's on Radio 1. When it finally comes up, the Polly Pocket theme song is playing, and multiple people are singing along. Louis thinks one of them is Nick, unless everyone on the show is just that tone deaf.

He switches over to text and sends, _Polly pocket, mate?_ before thinking too hard about it, because that is absolutely ridiculous to hear at whatever time of the morning it is back home. Especially since he thinks they're trying to _harmonize_ on the tune. 

Louis tangles his headphones when he tries to take his shirt off whilst he's still wearing them and the phone still on the bed. Once everything's righted, Louis tunes back into the show for the end of a song. 

"So I've just had a text from a friend who has apparently never listened to this show before, asking why we're singing the Polly Pocket song." 

Is...is Nick talking about Louis on the radio? After what happened the other day? Is he insane? 

"Some friend," one of the producers is saying. Louis thinks it's Matt, but he's only listened to the show a few times now and hasn't met them in person. 

"The point is, they're listening now, and they don't know the storied history of Ian and Polly Pocket." 

Louis lets out a breath when Nick won't even give his gender away. That should be safe enough. He laughs as Ian tells his story, sounding like it's not the first time he's gone through this, especially since Nick is asking questions and interrupting with rude sound effects the entire time. Ian just sounds like he's used to it, and Louis has to laugh. 

_thanks for the story_ he texts when the next record is on. He doesn't hear if they talk about him anymore because he passes out.

~*~

The first night Louis wanks with Nick's voice in his ear is an accident. Mostly. There's a strict no wanking when the bus is moving rule, but it's nearing four in the morning and Louis' been in bed for two hours, but he's still wide awake. The easy thing to do would be to just get up and go watch something in the lounge. Of course then he'd either fall asleep there or end up having company, and he both wants sleep and wants to avoid those sofas because they're murder on his back.

But wanking is a tried and true way to send him to sleep, even with the bus bumping around. Louis has never really cared for rules anyway, even when he's the one who'd come up with it, and he grew up with a gaggle of tiny sisters so he's well practiced at being quiet. 

He definitely has Radio One on, and it's definitely Nick's show, but it's still music in his ears when he slips his hand into his pyjama bottoms and squeezes his soft cock. Normally, he'd take his time, starting like this, completely soft and playing with himself for want of anything else to do. He likes to take his time, sometimes, teasing himself and staying on edge for a long while. This isn't the place for that, though, and this isn't about fun, this is about needing to sleep. 

Louis should probably be slightly embarrassed by how quickly he gets hard once the record is over and it's Nick speaking in his ear. It feels intimate, even though this is a radio show that goes out to an entire country each day. The thing is though, that Louis has had Nick's voice in his ear, just for him. It's slightly different when he's not on the radio, a bit more of an accent shining through, an edge of roughness that isn't there in his polished radio tone. But its effect on Louis is just about the same. 

He strokes himself slowly, feeling his cock harden, playing with the head and getting pre-come all over. His hand will be sticky in the morning, since he's not planning on getting up, but there should be a dirty shirt somewhere in the bed. In his ears, Nick is laughing at something, Louis' not sure what, but it's bright and sunny and warm and sounds like _home_. A familiar accent in a sea of Americans. 

The show flips over to the news, and then into a few songs, and Louis hasn't progressed much farther than a slow tease. It feels good just like this, and they've got hours on the bus yet, even if he had started this whole thing because he needed to fall asleep. They don't actually have a show today, so sleeping late isn't going to be an issue. It's just that Louis is tired and he hates that feeling of being unable to sleep even when he's blindingly exhausted. 

The longer he draws this out, though, the more chance he has of someone figuring out that he's breaking the rules; he doesn't fancy any of them getting the chance to post the photo of their choosing to Twitter. 

He keeps up the slow pace as Nick comes back on to do a link, but halfway through he hits the point where the need to actually come instead of just teasing himself takes over. He speeds up his hand even though it's a bit dry with just his own pre-come as lube. But he's both too lazy and too close to want to get up and dig through his bag for an extra bit of comfort. He sometimes likes it when he edges on things hurting anyway. 

With Nick laughing in his ear he wants to groan, wants to talk back, wants to insult Nick until he forces Louis into the pillows and fucks into him. Louis misses that, more than he thought he would. He listens to Nick talking about something, he lost the plot ages ago, but it hardly matters. He speeds up and wishes that he had room to spread out, to take his time and get a finger or two in himself since that's about all he can get right now, and they've still got a few weeks left. 

The radio goes back to music and Louis slows down a bit, biting his lip to keep quiet, and arching into his fist. When Nick starts talking again, Louis comes, every muscle in his body taut in his effort to stay silent. Slowly, he lets out a breath, toying with the come on his hand and stomach. He keeps listening to the story Nick's telling as his heart slows back to his normal rate and his eyes start to droop. 

Before he's completely asleep, he wipes his hand on the sheets and grabs his phone, pulling up a text to Nick. _next time i'm home we should go for dinner._ It's as close as he can get to saying what he really wants via text. He falls asleep before he gets a response. 

It's there when he wakes up, too soon, and only because Liam is coming back from a run and is being way too loud. Louis sticks his head out of his curtains to glare at Liam, then shuts it again so he can peel his shirt off his stomach; letting himself fall asleep without cleaning up was a huge mistake. When Liam is in the lounge, Louis rolls out of his bunk and throws on a new t-shirt, gathering up some clothes so that he can go inside and take a luxurious shower. He checks his phone almost as an afterthought, and finds a text from Nick. 

_Call me when you get back._

~*~

It's not that Louis is deliberately staying up nearly all night to catch Nick's show, it's just that touring is easily conducive to staying up late, and there's never all that much to do in the middle of the night, no matter if they're on the bus or stopped at the next city. It's not every night, since sometimes Liam is up too, and sometimes Niall joins them on their bus for the trip, but everyone generally scatters to bed before the show is over, which gives Louis time to listen in private. Because it's not something he turns on when anyone else is around.

He tends to catch Showquizness a lot, and he'll text answers and snarky comments to Nick, and even though he thinks it's a terrible idea, Nick has developed a tendency to read them out. 

"I've just had a text off a friend," Nick says early on Monday morning. "They say that we're obviously wrong about Rita's new video." 

"Is that friend Rita?" the caller asks. 

Louis smiles with the weight of the secret that he's the friend, unnamed as always, but Nick is talking about _him_ , and it's not even the first time today. He's spent a bit too much time going through Nick's Twitter mentions lately, just to see what people are saying. Mostly, though, he spends the early hours in his bunk talking to Nick. He wonders if Nick has that stupid fond smile on his face, the same one he sees in all the pictures with Harry. He wishes there was a way to ask about that and find out for sure.

~*~

"I think Grimmy's got a boyfriend." Harry reaches for a bottle of water and he sounds hurt. "Was he with anyone when you ran into him, Liam?"

Liam shrugs, and Louis does not get up from his chair so he can be closer to the conversation. He has nothing to contribute. Not at all. Luckily they move closer so he can eavesdrop whilst he eats his lunch. "He wasn't holding hands with anyone. Don't remember really. I just saw him at the bar. Why?" 

"He's apparently got a boyfriend and he didn't tell me." Harry sounds like this is the worst offense in the world, sticking out his bottom lip just for effect. They're mostly immune to it now, luckily, since no one else in the world is." According to Twitter he's got a friend who texts all the time during the show and they all think it's me." 

"Did you ever?" Liam makes a rude gesture which makes Harry laugh, shedding the pout completely.

This is part of the conversation that Louis absolutely doesn't want to hear but he can't tell them to stop talking and he's not done with his lunch so he can't walk away without them asking questions. 

Harry just shrugs. "Can't say I never thought about it. I mean, he's pretty fit, but we never did more than pass out in the same bed. Too drunk probably." 

Louis very narrowly manages to stop himself from saying something like _good_ or _thank god_. He picks up his phone instead. 

_Harry's mad at you. thinks you went and got a boyfriend without telling him._

_Nosy bastard,_ Nick texts back less than a minute later. Followed by, _and maybe I have._

Louis' heart drops, and he absolutely is not shaking when he texts back, _should we cancel dinner then?_

They haven't mentioned dinner since that first time Louis had texted in weeks ago, and it feels like ages have passed since then. Ages where they've talked nearly every day, Louis texting stupid things from the bus and the venues and the hotels which all look the same after a while. He's sent clever signs from fans, plates full of greasy food brought in for their post-show dinners before Niall gets his hands on it. That one sandwich with normal sized bread but meat pounded out to be as big as a plate had been pretty spectacular. 

Nick's sent back the complete versions of the stupid stories he tells on the radio and more, pictures from gigs and parties, and pictures of the team first thing in the morning. Louis is coming to realize that whilst his life is a special kind of absurd, Nick's is possibly even more so because it's all happening in London, and not out on the road. Louis really likes that he gets to see it happen. 

_Why would we do that?_

The ease and simplicity of the answer scares Louis a bit. He's not ready to think in terms of _relationships_ and _boyfriends_. Besides, they haven't seen each other in person in weeks, and they haven't had sex for longer than that, and they haven't had a real conversation possibly ever. 

_You should come to mine,_ Louis sends before he can second guess himself. _I can't cook but I can order a delivery._

Louis drums his fingers on the table while he waits for a response. Harry is busy filling Liam in on some DJ friend of Nick's who he could be going out with and texting someone, probably Nick. 

"He says it's a secret. He doesn't have secrets." Harry has handed his phone probably to needlessly show Liam the texts he's just read out. "Maybe Sam Smith? He's a friend of Daisy." Harry has rescued his phone and is texting again. Louis doesn't need to be around for this. 

_Please don't tell him_ , Louis sends. Nick has to know who he means. He pockets his phone without waiting for a response and leaves the table, no longer hungry. 

_Not until you're ready_ , is the reply waiting for him when he gets back to the bus. Which, god, Louis doesn't know what to do with that, other than stare at his phone and try to get his stomach to stop flying around. They haven't talked about what they were from before whatever this is, partly because Louis doesn't want to and he is a master at avoiding things. Also, he suspects that text is not the best way to have a conversation. Louis had thought that maybe the secret part was the main problem. It was easier to believe that than to believe it was anything he'd done or was. Louis sort of hates exposing his soft bits like this, but it's literally been years and not even Harry knows about their thing. 

He's always known he could trust Nick, wouldn't have gone after him in the first place if he hadn't, but maybe he can believe that it'll be true for more than just the physical side of what they do. Maybe he can trust Nick with more. Maybe he already has. And maybe that's the scariest thing of all.

~*~

Miami is hot and steamy outside, but it's not much better inside, with the number of people who are packed into the club. They've reserved the full thing, and probably most of the hotel itself, just because they have so many people on the road with them, especially at the end of this fucking massive tour. The party's in full swing by the time he makes it down, having taken the time to shower and dress nicely, since he won't be seeing a most of these people for months. Probably not until they start the next tour.

Someone hands him a glass of champagne as he walks in the door, and it's not his favourite, but it's a good drink for a celebration. He ends up drinking two more before he finds food. They'd skipped the traditional post-show dinner in favour of getting to the party as quickly as possible, all of them hyped up on the energy from an amazing last show. 

There's a mad crush of people around the buffet, but it's easy enough to find Niall, since he never stops laughing. Also, his blond hair sticks out quite a bit in the lights. Louis sneaks up behind him and reaches for his nipple. Niall yelps but manages to hold onto his plate. He hooks his free hand around Louis shoulder, trying to repay in kind, but Louis hunches away, and grabs Niall's hand to prevent further attempts. 

"Tommo!" Niall shouts. "You made it!" 

"Of course I fucking did, Nialler. Last show of tour, we're off home tomorrow, and I can finally ditch you losers." 

Louis looks up just in time to catch a slight frown on Niall's face, but he doesn't think anyone else around them caught it. Louis wonders just how close he came to a formal intervention before the tour break. He suspects it was fairly close, but at least he's fine now. Or, will be when Nick manages to text him again. It's been days. And okay, maybe it's Louis' turn to respond, but Nick's terrible at turns, and has a tendency to text with whatever is on his mind. Louis finds it very annoying and not endearing at all. 

His phone is burning a hole in his pocket, but he ignores it, and snatches a prawn from Niall's plate, melting away into the crowd before Niall notices, because then he'll be in for hell. No one steals Niall's food, especially when there's a whole feast two feet away. 

Instead, he goes to get another drink and finds Liam and Paddy and Sophia at one of the tables. 

"Cheers!" Liam shouts when he sees Louis, so Louis clinks their glasses together, hard enough to make half his drink slosh out before sitting down in Liam's lap, since there aren't any actual chairs at the table. Sophia just rolls her eyes at him, and Louis pokes his tongue out at her. 

"You're in good spirits," Liam says, voice low and directly in Louis' ear. 

Louis just grins at him. 

"Where are you disappearing to this time?" Sophia asks. 

"Home, I think," Louis shouts back. "We only get a week." 

Liam smiles at him. "Going to see the babies?" 

Louis isn't quite sure. His mum is back at work she could probably use the help, but they barely get a week off before they're needed again, and Louis might actually be considering sticking around London. It depends on whether there's anything for him to stick around for. Not that he's going to tell Liam this, he doesn't need to know. He shrugs instead. "Might just stay at home," Louis says. He pulls out his phone and glares at it. 

There are no new messages. 

There has to be an outside to this place, somewhere Louis can hear himself think, or at least hear his own voice and maybe Nick's if he's awake and decides to pick up his bloody phone. 

Louis wobbles a bit on his phone as he searches for fresh air, and eventually finds it after walking the perimeter of the club at least once, whilst downing more drinks. He stopped for shots with Niall and Paul, and again when he was being waylaid by a very drunk Harry. He's not even supposed to be able to drink over here. Louis is going to have a word with whoever is in charge, but only if he remembers in the morning, because he's already had a few himself. The whole thing probably took longer than he thinks, and he has no idea what time it actually is, only that he's still clutching his phone and that no one's texted him since the party started. 

It takes a few tries to bring up a call for Nick, instead of a text, but he eventually manages, even with his clumsy thumbs. 

Nick doesn't pick up. Louis can't remember if he's on the radio now or not, but he leaves a voicemail anyway because he can't come up with a reason not to. 

"Hi. We're done. We're fucking done with this tour. Done for months. And I'm coming home. We'll be home in two days." He's been counting down the days until he gets to fly back for what feels like ages now, and not just because it's something to get through. He's fucking got something waiting at home that's not just his own house. "Well most of us because Harry's going back to fucking LA and that huge fucking house of his but the point is that I'll be back. And I want to see you." 

Is he actually saying these words? He's a bit blurry around the edges from the champagne and the heat and more drinks than he's been able to count. Not that he'd tried particularly hard, there was just always a fresh glass in his hand, and more often than there was food within reach. If he can't be honest in this second, he'll probably never be able to. "Not like last time I don't just … I don't just want you to fuck me, I want to see you. I miss you." There's a shout from deep within the dance floor, and Louis looks over to figure out who it is before he decides he doesn't care, and then remembers that he's still on the phone with Nick's voicemail. "Fuck, I love you, so don't plan anything. Just be home when I get there. Um. Bye."

He's not sure what Nick will do with that information, but somehow, it feels good that it's out. He's about a million times lighter as he pockets his phone and heads into the crush, deciding to ignore his phone for the rest of the night.

~*~

They land back in London on a Tuesday morning, and don't really say goodbye before trickling out of the airport into separate cars, since they'll be back in the studio in less than a week. He hands over his luggage, but once he reaches his house he tells his driver to wait around for half an hour whilst he showers and changes into clothes that haven't been on an overnight, transatlantic flight. As he cleans off, he starts to get nervous about what he's about to do. It could either go really well, or spectacularly badly, and Louis has no idea which side of the line to place his bet.

He hasn't heard anything from Nick for a few days, nothing since he'd left that stupid voicemail, but now that he's back in London, he's determined not to let this go too long. It's nearing noon, which means that Nick should be home by now, so Louis throws on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a too-big hoodie he can disappear into as he definitely doesn't want to be spotted right now, and gives his driver Nick's address. 

His feet feel like lead as he walks down the steps to Nick's flat, each step ringing loud in his ears. By the time he manages to knock on the door, Louis' stomach is somewhere near his knees. He can't be sure that Nick is home, and he's sent his driver away with something like hope blooming in his chest. 

It takes about a minute for Nick to come to the door, even though it feels much longer to Louis. It feels, so long that he's about to leave when the door finally cracks open. Nick doesn't speak when he sees who's at the door.

"Err, hi," Louis says. "Can I come in?"

Nick steps back and opens the door wider. "If you like." Louis looks back in time to see Nick peering up to the street, watching to be sure they haven't been seen together, an old habit, and necessary, but Louis stomach knots itself up a bit more, because it _shouldn't_ be necessary. It just shouldn't. "Tea?" 

Louis never turns down tea. "Have you got Yorkshire?" 

"Of course not," Nick says. "Will his highness stoop to drink PG Tips?" 

Louis frowns. This isn't how this is supposed to go; it feels like they're back at the beginning, when they only talked enough to throw sharp knives at each other. It's like the last few weeks have just been erased, like Louis' drunken confession meant nothing at all. "Fine," he says. But then he pulls his hoodie back up over his head and his sleeves down his wrists, pulling the fabric between his fingers and holding on tight. "You know what, nevermind. I should go. I shouldn't have come." 

Nick, who is in the middle of grabbing two mugs from the cupboard, freezes and turns around so quickly that one of the mugs goes tumbling out of his fingers, hitting the counter and ending up in pieces on Nick's kitchen floor. Louis just stares at them, bits and pieces of colour dotting shards of white. He can't look away, because then he'd have to look at Nick, and he's not prepared for the rejection that's coming. 

"Shit!" 

Louis doesn't look up from the shards of Nick's mug, not even when he sees Nick's feet come into view, his worn boots crunching the pieces into even smaller ones, and probably damaging his kitchen floor in the process. 

"Fuck," Nick says. "Shit, I'm sorry. This isn't how it's supposed to go. You just caught me by surprise and I fucking _hate_ surprises." 

"How was it supposed to go?" Louis asks. He can't decide if he wants to hear this or not, but the way Nick is swearing at himself makes him think that maybe he does. He pulls his hood back off his head, but keeps his hands in his sleeves. He wishes he had pockets, too, because his arms just feel awkward, handing down with nothing to do. "Tell me what was supposed to happen. What you wanted to happen." 

Nick is looking down at the broken mug when Louis looks up again, then looks away quickly before Nick can see him. He's just not ready to meet Nick's eyes. 

"Well, I was going to offer you tea," Nick said. "I'd been planning on getting some Yorkshire in but I didn't know if you were coming back. Here, I mean. Didn't want to—" Nick stops talking suddenly, and Louis is a bit desperate to know what he was going to say, but he doesn't think he'll get it right away. 

He bites his lip, still not looking at Nick. "Maybe," he says, feeling a lot less sure about it than he was even three days ago, but more than two minutes ago. "Maybe we could have that tea now." 

"Yeah, alright," Nick says. "Let me just sweep this mess up first." 

"Leave it," Louis says. "It'll keep for ten minutes." 

But Nick insists, disappearing down the hall and coming back, brush in hand. Louis pulls another mug down from the cupboard and puts the kettle on to boil. He's never made tea in Nick's kitchen, never stayed long enough to do that; he's probably only spent about ten minutes total in Nick's flat that wasn't in his bedroom. It's a bit odd now, and it takes a bit of poking through the cupboards to find the tea, because of course he wouldn't keep it in the cupboard above the kettle like any normal person. 

He pulls out milk and leaves it at that, figuring that if Nick took sugar, it would be out somewhere obvious. Luckily, he doesn't need to ask, since he adds absolutely nothing to his own. 

They work in silence, Louis standing awkwardly and listening for the click of the kettle, but it's somehow comfortable. Or at least, not uncomfortable. Mostly. Louis isn't sure how at home he can make himself, and it's always weird when your friends clean in front of you. He feels like he should offer, but sweeping really is a one person job, and he's already making tea. 

His is brewed perfectly by the time Nick is done, and Nick fishes the teabag out of his and pours some milk in, putting it back into the fridge before motioning for Louis to follow him into the living room. 

There are two white sofas facing each other, a television, and a ridiculous amount of art hanging on the walls, including one frame of framed butterflies. Nick sits down first, and Louis sits opposite to him and stares at the pictures instead of Nick. 

"I wasn't sure if I should come," Louis says, breaking the silence. Nick doesn't say anything to that, and Louis watches out of the corner of his eye as Nick takes another sip of his tea. "I mean, we haven't ever spoken properly, and then I didn't hear from you after—" He waves his hand around. He remembers leaving the voicemail, and he remembers what he said. He's not sure how he's going to play it off. It depends on what Nick says. 

Nick, who is just staring at him now, drinking his tea and not talking. For fuck's sake, he talks for a living, he could open his mouth and just let words fall out. 

"We've _never_ talked, not in person, but the last few weeks it's sort of felt—"

"Easy," Nick interrupts. "It's been easy." 

"Yeah," Louis agrees. He finally looks straight at Nick, who is smiling softly. "I know we've spent years doing whatever the fuck that was, but it was nice to just talk, for once." 

Nick sets down his tea, but he's still looking at Louis when he eventually continues speaking. "You used me. I didn't mind, at first. Back when we'd hurl insults at each other in between fucking. But you changed and it stopped being fun. I didn't want to do it anymore, but you just kept coming back." 

Louis gulps. That's an extremely nice way of putting his behaviour from the last few months (the last year, really) into words. 

"I'm a dick, I know."

"No—"

"Shut up. I can be and I know it. I didn't realize how much of one until I saw other people being worse to you. I'm sorry my name drags you through that shit." He's apologized for his fans so many times over the last few weeks. He still feels an echo of that sick pit in his stomach when he goes on Twitter and sees what people write about Nick. He's always been able to deal with what's said about him with the help of the other lads and his family, but Nick – Nick's not a part of that. Shouldn't be getting the blowback from their fame. 

Nick just shrugs. "If it wasn't about you, I'd be getting it from Moyles' old fans. I'm used to it." 

"You shouldn't have to be," Louis says, suddenly fierce. He _shouldn't_ be. "No one should." 

"That includes you, you know," Nick says, coming around the coffee table to sit next to Louis.

They're not touching yet, but Louis' heart jumps into his throat and his ears heat up. Instead of responding, he reaches out and taps on Nick's thigh, twice, before laying his hand there. Nick is tense and trembling under his fingers, and Louis hand is the only steady part of him at all.

"I just—" the words stick in his throat, and Louis coughs, turning his head away, but refusing to move his hand. Nick covers it with his own and waits for Louis to get his breath back. "Turns out I actually like you," Louis says. "All these years of me being a dick and I actually like you underneath. I'm so sorry."

When Louis looks up again, Nick is smiling. "Shut up," he says before leaning forward and kissing Louis. Louis presses forward into him, just a bit, enough to let Nick know that he wants this too, before pulling back.

"I like you too," Nick says into the few inches of space between their lips. "I always have. At least a little bit." Louis gets a feeling that Nick isn't telling the truth, or maybe he is, just not all of it. He sort of hates that he doesn't know Nick well enough to be able to tell. But he's also glad because he can't deal with any of that just yet.

This time it's Louis who surges forward, stopping Nick from talking any more by literally putting his own lips in the way. He doesn't want to think about how horribly mean he was for so long, not when Nick's telling him _this_. He can't deal with that right now, his heart is fragile enough as it is. "Don't," he says, before kissing Nick again. "Don't tell me that."

Nick seems to get it, because he falls backwards when Louis pushes, and pulls him close when Louis falls on top of him, kissing him gently the whole time. Through all of it, they've never really kissed. At least, not like this, not when it's just the two of them tasting of tea and milk, working together instead of competing to see who wins the upper hand in their next round. Nick's hands are on his face now, fingers stroking lightly down Louis' cheeks and neck and into his hair, holding him in place for a better angle.

Louis is getting hard, but it's not urgent, it's the kind of arousal he can ignore for later because it's not his top priority. Instead, it just adds to how nice this feels, giving a bit of extra feeling when Nick slips his hands down Louis' back and burrows them under his shirt. It's easy like this, is the thing. Nick is so much taller when they're standing, extra tall if you add his hair to the equation, but right now, Louis is on top of him, and everything lines up perfectly, right down to Nick's absurdly large hands playing with the waistband of Louis' tracksuit bottoms.

"Come to bed with me," Nick whispers, between kisses.

Louis hesitates, just for a second. Because they've had sex before. They've been having sex for ages, but not like this. Not when Louis barely wants to let Nick's lips go to answer him, not with Nick sneaking fingers down Louis' spine, and not with Louis clutching Nick's shoulders to anchor himself in this world.

"We don't have—" 

"Yes," Louis says before Nick can get the rest of his sentence out. Now that he's been presented with the possibly of having to wait to get his hands on Nick, to get Nick inside him, to do all these things _with_ him instead of letting it be done, Louis isn't interested in stopping. "Yes, let's do that." He kisses Nick again for good measure. And then keeps doing it, because it feels amazing.

"You're going to have to move off me," Nick says.

"Nope," Louis says. "Find another way."

Nick runs his hand back up Louis' side and twists his nipple. Hard.

"Not fair." Louis is on his back on the floor next to the sofa, and all he can see of Nick are his fingers gripping the edge of the cushion and his stupid face with a stupidly wide grin on it. 

"You told me to find another way," Nick says, sitting up before carefully standing, one leg on each side of Louis. He offers his hands and Louis takes them, pulling himself up to standing, closer to Nick than he really needs to be mostly so he can push up onto his toes and kiss Nick again. It's allowed now. He never wants to stop.

"Come on then," Louis says, lacing his fingers with Nick and pulling him towards the bedroom.

The bed is made but a bit messy, and Nick's phone is sitting on one of the pillows, which explains why it took him so long to answer the door in the first place. It hardly matters anymore, because they're _here_ and they can barely separate long enough to make it from the hall to the bed. Eventually, Nick gently pushes Louis away with one of his giant hands, laughing, and uses the space to get his shirt up over his head. Louis does the same, though it takes him a bit longer, and then longer still because Nick is crap at helping others undress apparently. They're both laughing by the time Louis is free, and instead of going closer he backs away to the bed, falling onto it as dramatically as he can and starfishing his limbs out. Nick climbs on top of him in short order, once he's shed his jeans, too. 

"What, too lazy to take off your pants too?" Louis cups Nick's dick through the soft cotton, giving it a hard rub before snapping the elastic against Nick's hip.

They're obviously about to have sex, and Louis is not protesting the direction things are going, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to just kiss Nick forever. He brings his legs up and winds them around Nick's hips, pulling him in until Nick is collapsed on top of him so they can kiss some more, but also so Louis can buck up against him, getting at least a little bit of friction on his hard cock. "Fuck me." Louis pauses. "If you can be bothered to take your pants off."

Nick bites his neck, and Louis arches back to give him more space to work. He hopes there's a mark. He doesn't have to be anywhere tomorrow; not for days. It's glorious to think about a full week's worth of lie ins. Maybe he can even convince Nick to call in sick for one of them. 

"Couldn't wait to get my hands on you." Nick goes back to kissing Louis' neck, right on top of the bite. He works his way down Louis' chest, over the tattoo until he's biting at the waistband of Louis' sweats. "But these have to come off, too." He snaps Louis' waistband too.

"Help me out." Louis plants his feet and lifts his hips off the bed, which mostly means shoving his hard cock right into Nick's face, but he just laughs and mouths at it through the cotton before moving so that he can help Louis pull his sweats off. And then Louis, is naked and hard, and Nick is right there, just looking at him.

And not touching, which is really unfair of him, now that Louis is in his bed and everything. He's even rolling away off the bed, and Louis is about to lodge his protest, but Nick pulls off his pants and crawls back on top of Louis, pressing their hips together. Louis wraps his legs around Nick and tries to pull him closer.

It's not that he's unfamiliar with Nick's cock, but everything is different this time, so it feels like the first time they've fallen into bed together, and Louis is a bit giggly with it. At least Nick is right there with him, and for once nothing seems out of place in his life. Outside, he's got the lads and the music and the fans, and in here, he has Nick, who is tugging on his hair and laughing into his mouth.

"Are we ever going to get to it?" Louis asks, because Nick is spending an awful lot of time playing with the tattoos on his chest, and not actually making a move to do anything else. 

"What, do you have some pressing appointment somewhere?"

"Yeah. With your cock. And it had better not keep me waiting."

Nick stops completely, one eyebrow up, and he rolls his eyes. "You did not just say that to me. You actually said that." 

"Make up your mind. And get to it." 

Louis stretches out, hands under his head as Nick reaches for the bedside table, and Louis has ample time to appreciate how long and gorgeous Nick's arms are. He can't help but reach out to touch the weird crying eye tattoo, poking at it.

"Oi," Nick says, pulling his arm back and out of Louis' reach. It doesn't matter, though, because he's got what looks like lube and a condom in his hand. "None of that." 

"Sick tattoo. Did you get some drunk kid to scribble on your arm?"

Nick looks very pointedly at Louis' own arm, which is covered in exactly that. "A friend did it for me. At Mossy's party." 

"Was your friend drunk?"

"Don't remember," Nick says with a shrug. "I definitely was." He leans down to bite at Louis' chest. "Are we doing this or are we going to compare tattoos all day?"

Louis pretends to consider it. "Tattoos." He's smiling though, and he reaches out to pull Nick in for a kiss so that Nick knows that's not actually what he wants. With Nick's naked cock flush up against Louis' hips, and Nick's hand gripping his thigh, it's easy to gasp out a strangled _please_ into Nick's mouth. As good as Nick's hands feel gripping his thigh, his fingers would be better put to other uses.

Nick seems to get the picture. He kisses Louis one more time before moving down the bed, scraping his teeth over Louis' skin as he goes. He bites at Louis' thigh before getting a hand under his hips and tugging. "Turn over for me." 

He doesn't want to, doesn't want to be fucked from behind where he can't see Nick, not anymore. They've done that, and the memories of the last time they had are still a bit too fresh. "No. I want to see you. I want you to see me."

Nick smiles. "You will, I promise. I've got something else in mind first. Trust me?"

"Alright." Louis shifts and turns over, careful not to kick Nick in the face while he does it, because it really is a nice face and he'd hate to be the one responsible for messing it up. He lets Nick position him with his knees under him, and waits. He waits for what feels like quite a long time before he feels Nick's hands on him, gently stroking down his back and teasing at his crack.

Louis shivers and presses back as much as he can. "Come on." 

The next contact he gets is Nick biting him, hard, and then kissing softly on the cheeks of his bum. Suddenly Louis knows what Nick is about to do and he flushes hot, face burning because it's so _intimate_ , and he's never let himself get that close enough to anyone.

Nick teases him for a bit, dragging his lips and teeth and fingers over Louis' bum, making Louis arch back and spread out, but not beg, mostly.

" _Nick_ ," Louis absolutely doesn't whine. 

Nick pinches him, but stops the teasing. He grasps Louis' cheeks and spreads him wide, enough that Louis feels completely exposed, and almost uncomfortable. But then he feels Nick's hot breath on him, followed by the flat of Nick's tongue, warm and wet. It's much different to having someone's fingers, and Louis is caught between the strangeness of it and the fact that he wants any bit of Nick on him that he can get. 

Nick moves slowly, taking his time and letting Louis get used to it, before switching up and starting to really use his tongue. He's blown Louis before, so Louis is not unfamiliar with Nick's skilled tongue, but it's entirely different when he's using it to open Louis up, get him wet and loose.

Now that he's got used to the sensation, it's almost more than he can handle, and Louis is gripping the sheets, knuckles white. It's not enough, though, so he reaches back and grabs for Nick's hand. The angle is a bit awkward at first, with Louis twisted around and Nick still holding him open, but Nick seems to understand what he needs and moves his hand so that Louis can grip him tightly.

He feels like he's on the edge of his orgasm, heat pooling in his spine and starting to spread out, but as intimate as this is, and as good as Nick is, it's not what Louis wants. He tugs on Nick's hand.

"Stop. Please." 

Nick pulls back immediately and squeezes Louis' hand. "Are you alright?"

Louis turns over and stretches out on his back, pulling Nick in and hooking his ankles over Nick's. Their hands are still clasped between them. "Didn't want to come like that." 

Nick's face is shiny with spit and he leans down to wipe it off on Louis' chest. "Yeah?" 

"Revolting," Louis says, pushing Nick's face away. "You just had your face in my arse."

"Yes," Nick agrees, perfectly cheerful, "Now kiss me."

Louis manages to dodge his lips but only by a slim margin. "Not until you brush." He pushes Nick away from him, laughing. Nick's laughing too, but rolls off the bed and into his en-suite. Louis stretches out a bit and takes a few breaths to calm down. He'd definitely not been ready to kiss Nick after being rimmed, but also he needs a few seconds to calm down or getting fucked is not going to last very long.

He listens as Nick rinses and spits and then comes back to the bed, a sheepish smile on his face, and his cock just half-hard now. Louis is fairly sure he can fix that pretty quickly. When Nick stretches out next to Louis, Louis rolls him onto his back and moves down, not bothering to take his time. He can do that later. Right now, he wants to get Nick fully hard for him again, with his mouth because it's been far too long since the last time he'd done this, and he really likes Nick's dick. 

Nick buries his hand in Louis' hair as Louis closes his mouth around Nick's dick, teasing him to full hardness with his lips and tongue. He loves the way Nick's hips are shifting under his hands, not trying to buck up into his mouth, but he just can't stay still. This is what's been missing, he thinks, remembering Nick's words from all those weeks ago. He'd only cared about getting his own needs met; selfish really, and an absolute dick move, which he tries to make up for by putting everything into this blowjob. 

After a few minutes, just when Louis' jaw is starting to ache, Nick tugs on his hair. "Hey, enough." 

Louis pulls off, letting Nick's cock fall out of his mouth with a pop. He looks at Nick, not quite able to ask, not ready to know that Nick was just pretending to enjoy that. It's unlikely, but there's a part of Louis' mind that's screaming that he isn't good enough.

"No, nothing like that," Nick says as though he can read Louis' darkest thoughts. Maybe he can, he's been Louis' punching bag too much. "It's the same as you, I don't want this to be the end."

Louis cheers up instantly, kissing the head of Nick's cock gently before coming up to steal a kiss. Nick puts a hand over his mouth.

"Go brush," he says, but he's smiling.

"It's cock, not arse I've been sucking," Louis says, biting at Nick's fingers until they go away and leaning in for his kiss anyway. Nick opens for him easily, and they stay like that for a bit. The urgency of the situation is gone, even though Louis is still extremely eager to get Nick inside him.

He rolls onto his back and pulls Nick with him. It's only partially successful, and Nick ends up laying at his side more than on top, but Nick gets what he wants anyway, and grabs for the abandoned tube of lube, kissing Louis one more time before moving down and spreading Louis' legs wide. 

Louis is already a bit loose from Nick rimming him earlier, so once he's lubed up, Nick slides a finger in easily, his other hand hooked under Louis' knee and holding him open. Nick's fingers are long and slim, and he is very well practiced at knowing how to use them. As soon as he works a second finger in, Louis starts to come apart. Nick finds his prostate easily and brushes is over and over, biting Louis' inner thigh at the same time. The pain keeps him on the edge just enough, especially when Nick adds a third finger, and twists his hand in sure motions. Both of Nick's hands are busy, so Louis grabs for Nick's hair instead, desperate to be able to hold on to some part of Nick. 

When Nick pulls back to grab a condom, Louis can see that he's shaking. He'd offer to help but he's in roughly the same state. His hands aren't trembling as badly, but only because he's clenched them into fists in the sheets. He can't even mock Nick for nearly fumbling the condom because he's too distracted watching Nick's fingers once Nick gets them under control, rolling the condom on and slicking himself up. He makes a face when he wipes his hands on the sheets. And Louis has to laugh at him for that.

"You ready?" Nick asks, hooking Louis' legs over his arms and moving into position. Louis is being bent in half and partially squashed, and he's never felt better, breathless and desperate.

"Yes." Louis reaches out and grabs for Nick's face, bringing him closer so they can kiss. His thighs strain at bit at the stretch and he'll feel it tomorrow, but hopefully he won't have to do much by way of physical activity after tonight. Unless it's more of this, and then he'll have to actually do some stretches. It's alright, he's a professional footballer now. He knows which ones to use. Louis breaks their mouths apart so he can catch a breath. "Go on." 

Nick grips Louis' thigh tight as he slides in, slowly, letting Louis get used to the stretch. It's easier than Louis remembers from last time. Then again, last time he hadn't been looking at Nick's face and the furrow between his brows as he concentrates. Louis can't help but reach up to poke the wrinkle. Nick laughs, and slides in the rest of the way, stopping for a moment, and whether it's to let himself or Louis adjust it doesn't matter. He kisses the tip of Louis' nose and they both giggle. 

"Alright?" Nick asks, his voice coming out in more of a whisper than actual tone. Louis loves it.

" _Yes_ ," Louis says, elongating the _s_ until Nick shuts him up with a sharp jab of his hips and Louis has to gasp in a breath. "Oh go on, if you must."

Nick thrusts again, and he's smiling down at Louis, who strains his neck upwards to he can kiss him. After that, Nick gets it, and starts moving in sure strokes. Short, sharp bursts that make Louis' toes curl first, and eventually lengthening out into long, smooth, hard thrusts. Louis tries to kiss him, but neither of them manage very well and end up just bumping lips and breathing into each other's mouths more than anything.

Nick's fingers are tight on Louis' leg, digging into the muscle and giving Louis something to focus on, which he desperately needs because he's about to fly apart. Coming closer and closer each time Nick thrusts in at just the right angle to brush over his prostate. He wants a hand on his cock, he wants something more than just Nick's belly occasionally rubbing over him as they move together. He's hard and leaking and more than a bit desperate but he doesn't have the coordination to move his hands from where they're clutching at Nick's arms.

"Please," he manages to moan out. " _Please_ , Nick."

"Tell me what you need." 

"Touch me. I need you to touch me." 

"Yeah?" Nick breathes, letting go of Louis' leg and bringing his hand between them. He runs a fingertip down the vein of Louis' cock. "Like this?" 

"Fuck." Louis dick twitches and smears wet across his belly as Nick thrusts all the way in, still not doing what Louis asked. And he'd said please, too. Louis digs his heels into Nick's back. "No, not that." 

Nick stills for a minute and kisses him, taking his time, even as he's pressing Louis into the mattress. Without starting up again, he wraps his fingers around Louis and strokes him a few times. The direct touch for the first time all night is almost overwhelming. Nick's given him a pretty spectacular rim job and is doing a wonderful job actually fucking him, but the simple thing of Nick's hand on his cock is what's going to be his undoing. 

That, and the fact that Nick starts thrusting again, following the same pattern he had before of small thrusts leading into longer, smooth strokes, moving his hand at a counterpoint to his hips. It's too much for Louis and he can feel his orgasm pooling in his spine and spreading out into his limbs until he spills over Nick's fist and clenches down on his cock.

Above him, Nick gasps but doesn't stop moving, keeping Louis on the edge and seeing stars until he speeds up and his hips stutter to a stop, and he comes straining forward to kiss Louis. He rocks his hips a few more times before collapsing on top of Louis, his weight warm and welcome as he nuzzles into Louis' neck. Louis pushes his fingers into Nick's ruined quiff and holds on.

Eventually though, Nick has to pull out and dispose of the condom before he goes soft and it gets stuck in Louis. He doesn't fancy that hospital visit. "That was good," he says when Nick rolls back to him.

Nick laughs. "Are you my show reviewer now? What am I going to get out of ten, please?" He's stroking his fingers down Louis' cheek and chest and arms, raising goose pimples and smoothing them out again.

Louis doesn't bother to answer, just rolls his eyes and pushes closer so he can tangle his legs with Nick's and kiss him quiet. "Shut up." 

~*~

"It doesn't have to mean anything, you know," Louis says.

They're in Nick's bed, lying side by side and not touching anymore now that they've cleaned up a bit. Louis rolls onto his side to watch Nick, who is on his back, arms under his head, staring at the ceiling. He wasn't really moving before, but he goes absolutely still when Louis tentatively reaches out and lays a hand over his stomach. "It was the last night of tour, there was a party, and I was drunk."

It's an out, and excuse to let things go, to keep doing whatever they'd been doing back in the beginning of this thing, before tonight, before he knew that he wanted more than just Nick's dick every few weeks. Before Louis fucked everything up, and definitely before he actually went and fell in love. He's not sure what he'll do if Nick takes the out; if he lets Louis off the hook for his drunken confession.

After a minute of dead silence, Nick turns his head, meeting Louis eyes. His face is a careful blank, mirroring Louis' own. "Is that what you want?" Nick asks quietly. He opens his mouth like he's going to say more, but nothing comes out and he just closes it again.

"I—" Louis hesitates. He's so terrible at being serious, at letting go of the prickly veneer he's cultivated for so long, but sometimes he actually gets it right and he knows that this isn't the place for it. "I _was_ drunk," he says slowly. "But that doesn't mean I was lying, or that I didn't mean it."

He holds his breath, the weight of the confession sitting uneasily in his chest. Nick shifts on the bed, but Louis refuses to move his hand, refuses to let go of the tiny connection they have right now. Nick's warm skin is the only thing tethering him here and he needs it.

It turns out, though, that Nick is actually trying to move closer. He picks up Louis' hand in his own and shifts it to his hip, turning on his side and narrowing the space between them by a few inches. He watches as Nick reaches out to tug gently on a strand of his hair before cupping his hand around Louis' cheek.

"Then say it again. Tell me when you're not drunk. Make a decision to do it."

Louis opens his mouth, but the words stick. He'd said it so easily that first time, high on the adrenaline from the show and the relief that they'd be coming home and the top shelf drinks he'd been knocking back all night. Here, in the small, quiet space they've carved out together in the middle of Nick's bed, it feels so much different, more like he has to carve it into his chest and make it stick instead of letting it spill out.

"It doesn't have to be tonight," Nick says, withdrawing his hand. Louis shifts forward, trying to follow it, to keep Nick's fingers on him as long as possible. Nick's saying one thing, but Louis is pretty sure he doesn't mean it. He doesn't mean half the things he says sometimes, and it's been hard to figure out which bits of nonsense actually matter.

This one matters. This is perhaps the most important bit of nonsense to ever leave Nick's mouth. 

He skims his hand up Nick's side, feeling him tremble underneath the light touch, though he can't tell if it's because Nick is ticklish or if it's nerves or maybe something else entirely. But he doesn't stop until he reaches Nick's hand, twining their fingers together in the space between them.

Nick looks at him, expectantly, meeting his eyes and waiting. Louis was right, he needs to do this now or they'll lose something, and maybe they won't ever be able to get it back. The last few weeks have been rough and tentative and glorious, and they'll never be in this exact situation again.

"I love you," he says, quietly. He was looking at their hands when he said it, but as soon as the words fall out of his mouth he looks back at Nick. He's smiling. Not the wide grin that wrinkles his eyes and shows off his teeth, not the one he wears around Harry or any of his other friends. It's something smaller and softer and kinder, something Louis never expected to see from him. It warms him up and loosens the weight in his chest.

When Nick slides forward, it loosens further, and by the time Nick kisses him, Louis feels absolutely weightless, like his fingers twined into Nick's are the only thing keeping him anchored to this bed. They stay like that for a long time, sliding closer until their thighs are tangled together too, arms bent between them, kissing gently and without any rush.

For once in his life Louis doesn't need to be anywhere else, and he doesn't want to go either. The restless urge to _keep moving_ that's been plaguing him for so long is quiet, maybe gone forever. By the time they pull back a few inches, Louis lips are red and swollen and Nick's got a hint of beard burn around his mouth.

"I do, too," Nick says. "I love you." He smiles a smug little smile, and a hint of mischief returns to his eyes, all of the hesitance from earlier gone. "And I don't even need to be fucked up to say it."

Louis rolls his eyes. Nick is so fucking annoying sometimes. 

"I'll fuck you up." It's not his best comeback, but it works well enough, because he rolls Nick onto his back and climbs on top of his thighs and proceeds to do just as he promised.


End file.
